It's weird to have friends who are *****
You know they're not good people
But they're your friends
Your best friends
And they're not really cunty towards you
They're actually really nice
And they make you laugh
But there's this thing in the back of your mind
That wonders
Constantly, almost
If they're talking about you
If they're being cunty towards you
Behind your back
Because even though they are your friends
They're nothing more than *****
Who only really know how to be *****
Not friends

Walking down the short hallway to the restroom, Laura was definitely feeling the buzz. She even had that chemical burning lovely shades in her digestive tract, or at least, that's how it always felt when she got high. That **** burned right through her inhibitions and her exhaustion; it made her watchful and ******, any touch felt like lightning. A GOOD TIME kind of time comes to mind, where merely a pair of lips and teeth scraping against her skin could make her come......a drug that was so disgustingly ****** to her it would probably have ruined her for a sober life. Forever ******* and trying to find the heights she had once achieved even with the most incompetent lovers. It was truly a drug for a woman. Always the ones expected to make someone feel better than they are, constantly begged to lend validation to the worn and make them feel new again with your love and admiration. It absolutely disgusted her sometimes the things she had done, but you could never deny her the title of success in that arena. She had traversed a pile of trash and made them feel golden and important, even allowing a man to **** her soul until it couldn't love anymore. Lack of responding was forever to be her kryptonite....but here she lies, Laura, the fuckingest of the *******, and queen of the ******* she ****** back to life in her drugged state- the only time she had ever been able to stomach being a "modern" woman. Covertly sneaking the addicts and the losers love underneath the table....trying to make them rise up and redefine it all. But her army would never come, and the war would never begin- thinking they would be the only ones who would fight for her, the ones she had bore into full men, but oh was she wrong. And oh was she stuck for good.

Ever since she has felt a dissonance from a pleasure. But back to her present past we were talking about...she is walking down a hallway feeling that nice fuzzy synth feeling. The sexiness and the sway in her own hips is even electrifying her...turning her on....getting lost in the restroom between her own legs and also a straw up her own nose....CHOP CHOP CHOP...then the sweet SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF.....circling her reflection in the mirror after each hit trying to see how it changed her on the outside....she felt so alive for the first time after a life that seemed to have been filled with oppression prior to this dark crystals reawakening of her senses. But she began to see shadows in the night; shadows of the past, shadows leading to the monster's locked away in the recesses of her mind that were only allowed out sometimes. She felt lost in the dreaming of this toxicity of her inner haven...even her psyche had been taken over. All she longed to do was ****, smoke, please, and be incredibly beautiful and feel wanting/wanted....desire in the purest form no matter what it was about or what it was for....forever spinning around looking for what was not lost, but definitely for something in herself and others that was never quite enough. That's probably why she lost that one man, or the next....she could never fully finish because it was an ongoing walking, uncontrollable stimulation....always on the brink of ****** and always searching for it. Even after feeling it it didn't seem to quite satisfy..."I can't get No Satisfaction" comes to her ear in these moments...blinding her ****, spilling into her overly absorbed and enlightened prefrontal cortex. She thought she was such a genius...planning to make money and run away into this lifestyle and never re-emerge again. Oh but she was cunty and ****** up and made too many fall in love with her....and after the only one she truly loved betrayed her....told her and showed her that he could never be the lover he promised he would be in prison, well....she got spun for life and hasn't been fully untangled since....It's a drought season in the year of that love....she could bring about all the desire in that man, even make him love her....for who she really was not just the doped up junkhead she had become....but it would never be enough because his demons couldn't be satisfied with anything but a jail life full of structure. Her ***** lips couldn't seal him in tight enough, close enough to home to stick.....and so as he disappeared from her heart willingly....so did her sanity. Going truly mad over this sick and constantly incarcerated beautifully disgusting soul broke her. Wanting to love him better, to love him the way she wanted to be loved so bad.......and not getting it not even once. . . Travesty in her heart...sobriety spinning her out into dope again, and the ten mile walk of shame after she couldn't find him again when he ran from her insanity that had been induced....well....she almost died just trying to stay in love with the one person in all her dope days that made her feel loved and celebrated....not just ******, symmetrical, and ideal.....she never wanted to be ideal, she just wanted to be enough.
Riding along with her own self hate on the coaster of her life into all the wibbly wobbly bits of life that could never be explained away....only tears could seal them far enough for heart to be so far from touching them she didn't even want to go through the trouble anymore

The double slit experiment
In quantum mechanics
Shows us one thing:
That you can’t trust a *******.

You can’t even trust a particle
Without watching it like a hawk,
And even then it will disobey you.

Be a little rebel,
Get yourself a little *****,
Have your own opinions,
Let relationships decay into ruin.

Quantum mechanics tells me
That we’re all a little cunty,
Even the atoms that comprise us,
So what choice do we have
In the end?

Walking down the short hallway to the restroom, Laura was definitely feeling the buzz. She even had that chemical burning lovely shades in her digestive tract, or at least, that's how it always felt when she got high. That **** burned right through her inhibitions and her exhaustion; it made her watchful and ******, any touch felt like lightning. A GOOD TIME kind of time comes to mind, where merely a pair of lips and teeth scraping against her skin could make her come......a drug that was so disgustingly ****** to her it would probably have ruined her for a sober life. Forever ******* and trying to find the heights she had once achieved even with the most incompetent lovers. It was truly a drug for a woman. Always the ones expected to make someone feel better than they are, constantly begged to lend validation to the worn and make them feel new again with your love and admiration. It absolutely disgusted her sometimes the things she had done, but you could never deny her the title of success in that arena. She had traversed a pile of trash and made them feel golden and important, even allowing a man to **** her soul until it couldn't love anymore. Lack of responding was forever to be her kryptonite....but here she lies, Laura, the fuckingest of the *******, and queen of the ******* she ****** back to life in her drugged state- the only time she had ever been able to stomach being a "modern" woman. Covertly sneaking the addicts and the losers love underneath the table....trying to make them rise up and redefine it all. But her army would never come, and the war would never begin- thinking they would be the only ones who would fight for her, the ones she had bore into full men, but oh was she wrong. And oh was she stuck for good.

Ever since she has felt a dissonance from a pleasure. But back to her present past we were talking about...she is walking down a hallway feeling that nice fuzzy synth feeling. The sexiness and the sway in her own hips is even electrifying her...turning her on....getting lost in the restroom between her own legs and also a straw up her own nose....CHOP CHOP CHOP...then the sweet SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF.....circling her reflection in the mirror after each hit trying to see how it changed her on the outside....she felt so alive for the first time after a life that seemed to have been filled with oppression prior to this dark crystals reawakening of her senses. But she began to see shadows in the night; shadows of the past, shadows leading to the monster's locked away in the recesses of her mind that were only allowed out sometimes. She felt lost in the dreaming of this toxicity of her inner haven...even her psyche had been taken over. All she longed to do was ****, smoke, please, and be incredibly beautiful and feel wanting/wanted....desire in the purest form no matter what it was about or what it was for....forever spinning around looking for what was not lost, but definitely for something in herself and others that was never quite enough. That's probably why she lost that one man, or the next....she could never fully finish because it was an ongoing walking, uncontrollable stimulation....always on the brink of ****** and always searching for it. Even after feeling it it didn't seem to quite satisfy..."I can't get No Satisfaction" comes to her ear in these moments...blinding her ****, spilling into her overly absorbed and enlightened prefrontal cortex. She thought she was such a genius...planning to make money and run away into this lifestyle and never re-emerge again. Oh but she was cunty and ****** up and made too many fall in love with her....and after the only one she truly loved betrayed her....told her and showed her that he could never be the lover he promised he would be in prison, well....she got spun for life and hasn't been fully untangled since....It's a drought season in the year of that love....she could bring about all the desire in that man, even make him love her....for who she really was not just the doped up junkhead she had become....but it would never be enough because his demons couldn't be satisfied with anything but a jail life full of structure. Her ***** lips couldn't seal him in tight enough, close enough to home to stick.....and so as he disappeared from her heart willingly....so did her sanity. Going truly mad over this sick and constantly incarcerated beautifully disgusting soul broke her. Wanting to love him better, to love him the way she wanted to be loved so bad.......and not getting it not even once. . . Travesty in her heart...sobriety spinning her out into dope again, and the ten mile walk of shame after she couldn't find him again when he ran from her insanity that had been induced....well....she almost died just trying to stay in love with the one person in all her dope days that made her feel loved and celebrated....not just ******, symmetrical, and ideal.....she never wanted to be ideal, she just wanted to be enough.

*******, cunty ******= I love you.




Im such a sweet person ♥

This is a tale featuring the great superhero, SNOGGO

  That ******* dangerous horrific and scary beast would not terrify me.  Who was I?  Some little stupid ******* weedy spastic?  No, I was the great fearless SNOGGO!  Yes! Yes! Yes! I was the magnificent SNOGGO who had faced (without flinching much) so many humunguously terrifying events! So I picked up the mighty hammer and struck out fearlessly: *'Wham! Thump! Crash! Boom!' I gave the terrfying monster a ******* great bashing.

  I was enraged yet not terrified more than was absolutely necessary. Did you erroneously imagine I was just some little weedy wimp afraid of attacking a terrible adversary without a platoon of Hummers (whatever they may ******* be) full of mercenaries recruited from the slum trailer parks of Hades?  'Take that you stupid evil cunty ideologue!' I yelled, 'Take that! And that! ******* take that!'

  My God, I bashed that vile and 100% hideous creature ******* senseless. I was so ******* brave, just as brave as the worthless ***** who will soon be called heroic US veterans killing innocent Arabs left, right and centre throughout the entire ******* Middle East to please their Zionist taskmasters, God ****** them. I was incandescent.  I was SUPER-******* SNOGGO! I would triumph over adversity in the name of ******* freedom's ******* bell! Ding-****!

  As so it came to pass that, finally after a tremendous struggle in which I nearly lost a fingernail, the immature pink dwarf hamster lay lifeless before me, squashed into a puddle reminiscent of a flattened dead hairy ripe tomato. 'Bring it on, you ****** *****,' I bravely thought as I ****** my comrade's flaccid **** eagerly as we cowered manfully in a burnt-out mosque, preparing ourselves bravely for a spot of rendition among the local orphans.

When all my blood is estranged
Is it then that I become deranged?
Already self-loathing and anti-family
So maybe I can’t stand my own genetics                        
Perhaps I see myself as unequivocally cunty
And maybe I cannot stand the things that made me
Is this what makes one deranged?
Self-destructive and anti-happy
When all the blood is estranged
And the world is just animals
To be coldly devoured. . .
This seems to me quite deranged

Sitting in a coffee shop in yupstown hipsville Brooklyn
scrawling in a notebook with a headband on
I become a caricature of myself
why these things even matter to me I cannot explain
but I feel like scumbag anyway

Constantly criticizing
revising
rewriting my words and theirs
my thoughts
"oh thats pretentious"
"what is that? your talking out your ***"
"why do I/you even bother?"
Why can't I just go?
Be
write write scribble doodle
think
at least I'm not the ******* sitting across from me
(there it goes again)

But i am part of a growing number
of diligent dilettantes
with notebooks and  novels
leather bound and worn
"vintage"
and "obscure" instruments
and tastes
because I am all leisure
I have that kind of time
but aren't I just another ****?
Cunting out my cunty cuntness
like it's something new
like i'm not just playing games
playing roles
half committed and pandering
to an audience of privilege
looking for clarity, or authenticity?
or am I just another salesman?

Ugh I cannot escape
my sense of inadequacy
I m a sham, a ******* artist
When is it going to ******* end....
is there any escape
that comes without labels
self imposed or otherwise?
(stop wining you ****!)

ksywa* or ła(h) ła(h) - or just simply ksyva -
   and that's really pushing it,
                        it almost looks russian -
                like the łord:     vechki vechki vesteya
you do the german thing and it becomes
             veschki veschki vesteya -
                         i.e. véshkí véshkí -
                            and the acute accent means?
throw the ****** into the air!
                            and hope to catch it, when it lands
on the iota with a dot above it, like a halo,
     or the parlance of a saint gibbering (by now you know
that you can pronounce the dz unit, because
           you reall don't say gee-beer-ing;
                       or ****... you write it as jibbering?).
       oh... the word ksyva?
                                    when we're still in school
we get nicknames...
                       what was my nickname?
  given to me by a bue of a blonde?
                                                         ­      dad.
  that ***** you up... it's not like you get to handle
a nickname like that as if it were akin to: ****, cunty,
                 *******...             wormhole....
                                                 c'mon!          dad?!
what sadist does that?!
                                  how about a variant, like:
     herr mannelig            or herr holger.... and then
we can dance and cheer and drink ourselves to death
   ahoy valhalla! - style
                             i put the hyphen there because
i wanted to encapsulate the whole cheer! but not really.
    followed up by: like.
                                        but i'm really proud of myself,
i managed to solve a du doku.... ****... a su doku
                  completely off my rockers, and as you might
or might not know, no. 8987 is classified as fiendish....
this is the first time i managed to solve a fiendish category
su doku without being allowed the 4 clues
       you get when you phone up the publishers and
get the autocue...
                it looked like this:

8 7 5 9 2 3 6 1 4
2 3 9 1 4 6 5 7 8
6 4 1 7 5 8 9 2 3
9 2 4 5 3 1 8 6 7
1 5 7 6 8 2 3 4 9
3 8 6 4 7 9 2 5 1
7 6 8 2 9 4 1 3 5
4 9 2 3 1 5 7 8 6
5 1 3 8 6 7 4 9 2

          but all this leads to is more conceptualisation,
*******, the orientals invented something
  beyond western imitation, i.e. beyond the haiku!
this really is the chiral form of the haiku!
                       some puzzles have timed designations
for being solved, e.g. samurai sudoku no. 555: 34min.
         who the **** times this sort of bewildering activity?
capitalists... competition... how about i just do the puzzle
by way of relaxing, when doing it, rather than competing
from some ****** plastic imitation of gold's worth of trophy?

i'm trying to find the genesis of the puzzle's existence,
sure, i can fly to japan and talk to some yogi, or yoga or kung fu master,
but i want to do it myself...

     the best i came up with?

        convergence / divergence of the co-ordinate concept
                   of a two-dimensional graph...
          exploiting the two-dimensional conceptualisation -
          into a three-dimensional "space".

          well... because it's a bit like this:
      
     (.)squared
                       (. .)squared

                                               (. . .)squared

     (. . . .)squared
                                      (. . . . .)squared

           and you're basically for interlocking coordinations of
the same number, e.g. 5 with 5, 6 with 6.

        these beastly, dragon-equivalent orientals really know
how to play the numbers game, for one: there's a billion of them,
and second: they don't have an alphabet...
           like marco polo suggested:
             they write out the equivalent to a da vinci -
but all it sounds like is ma! or da! or ya! -
      among variant, in that, almost infinant "number" of interpolations.

in love with the sign language i taught myself: wave, and then extend your *******... it's called a hang-job in signlanguage; it's like waving a goodbye, with the goodbye being more a ****-off, than a goodbye: god give me better grace, i love the shake of the hand as if jerking off, and subsequently the extended ******* to add the compliment; ****! it almost feels like the welsh V!

i know how it feels being an "illegal" immigrant,
second time round though?
   legal as a kite, or a yellow submarine,
but that's beside the point, as i told my father
today: you've seen the state of english
these days? these acronyms and the middle
class favouritism of emojis?
you've seen it? this is a language?!
these are covert methods to prevent people
from learning computing code!
**** em, someone has to shove em,
kick em up their lazy **** *****!
           work you cunty *** sleazes!
work! what? not congregating on
the monasteries? imagine me as a rabid
dog, owned by henry viii, about to chew
off your leg!
   ****** thinks i'm not "properly" integrated...
so why is it, that i know english language
better than your ****** populace?!
riddle me that, all day, from monday through
to sunday, and the irish bank holiday,
a ****** like me loves a bit of
riverdance on the sly...
       so?
                hello?!
                   so you gonna ******* do it,
or retreat into your lil 'obbit 'ole?
******* *******...
         no wonder the i.r.a. gave up:
who gives a toss about fighting transvestite
***** after 20+ odd years...
even the spies were like: you will not
find me engaging in this sort of *****
for the next 'undred years...
   i'll genuflect st. paddy's shamrock
and call it jewish twice over,
than behave like those, ******* perverts
of the ęnglischspreschen* -
and that's what you call fishing,
my mired youngling.
i tol my papa: ******* keepin' wit'
the times?!
    look at 'em... ugly 'n' "spontaneous"
like the ******* elephant man...
         ooh: goonah fly an eff off wit a kyt...
like **** you yo will...
     fly me a yorkshire spud 'stead 'irst...
you ******* dartford dodger....
       said the 'ackney lass...
see: i speak more english than the 'acking
english....
     it's about akin to 'eaching poker:
you learn the cockers:
you learn the:
                   two doors down luv,
and if ders no shlang for that 'ort of phrase:
there ****** ought to be, next week:
    ya 'acking cockney 'onker!
now i feel like a right *******...
         or like i really need a propah
jerking off... which is y means that
it can only be
answered in jai jai, or the slip of tongue
on led zeppelin's d'yer mak'er, as
the scots 'aid - druid in make-em mon -
   what's that, maca ******* roons?
       tall order, for slanging off almonds,
****, 'et's toast 'em,
           ******* were never gonna
          learn the ******* bagpipes anyway
just tell 'em to learn the dog whistle,
or the orchestra's triangle.

Splattered in concrete like decent ommissions
Like ethereal gods
Like rotted pine and faulty seeds
Like withered lungs & crusty pig ****
Like  laughing dogs and cunty cats
Like frolicking lilyhammers
Like ****** bullmen
Like sexless libras
Like tight stewardess *** in the 90s
Like a poptart tomorrow
Like the last liberal
Conservative
Connected to the wifi
Take a stige
And laugh
Why not lol
Ok
   Ok ok
This is like myself

there's a  fire in this madhouse of Venus
where unattainable romance gives birth
to cunty darkness and pleading clawish fingers
to obsessions of strange mental constructs
something about blood and tears
birthing black ******* and vampires
with vermillion mouths shaped in circles
that gorge themselves on violent thrusting *****
and ***** resembling mushed faced pugs
just asking for it

a woman's eyes burn like cigarettes
and tongues snake into esophageal
swoon revivals of glorious deliverance
flashing souls flit like street lights
and flames of wraith hair
she begs to be strangled with a black chord
and kissed till her brain blurs fizz

she dances
wigwam wiggle and clutches
like a sliding oyster
licking my *******
**** ***** and ruby ***** 
gagging repeatedly onto the hilting root  
falling into submission
for her dark ******* god Faustian thing
a little doll with mythic eyes 
a ******* wraparound mouthy wigged ***** 
with a baloney-pony disco stick orifice

will you **** me with your **** sir
a dark hunger gnaws deep within
so bleed me merciless
like a gushing artery
make me red dead in love in bed
butter **** and properly spread
pound me like a hell ***** ****** 
in a burning five alarm 
emergency suicide ****
-
i corkscrew her 
into a writhing
murderous wreckage 
as she dissolves under me 
like a sugar cube in hot tea and blood
christened by a magic wand
that forces her round belly 
up and down like a toilet plunger

her ***** drools like runny yolks
a deep homework 
the shamanic decent 
an illusive weighing of the heart 
the sweet meat priestess 
who resuscitates abandoned legends
making my ***** click like castanets 
a Mr. Winkey party
spewing Icelandic yogurt
her teeth rattle
as her brains and one eyeball 
hang off my **** 
like pig trough slobber

her face smiles 
and vomits peaches

there's moon glitter
in your beautiful hair
my darling

God save the kink

baby was a black sheep, baby
was a *****...
rock & roll ******.

i'm gonna drink my whiskey,
extend my *******,
and in doing so,
      to simply express the stance:
thank you, thank you,
                 *******, *******!
eat lead.
  capsize on your ******'s worth of girth!
cunty-mother-*******-waste-of-a-worth-of-man;
come, the last demand...
               and i'm adjusting my clockwork
toward a city lifestlyle...
  i just felt there was enough empty
space in the double bed to suggest:
     hums and cuddling pillows
to hope for the opposite ***...
****** ****** ****** ****** ******...
****** ****** ****** ******...
                  it's what's called: singing in prison...
like a parrot... a *budgerigar...
         white boy in the prison of his
own language...
   what, a, waste, of, time.

I see it's April, 700 years from now & church is in full swing. People are singing their praises for Jesus, due to return any moment now. The apocalypse is nighly {that means nearly} here, if prophesy holds firm. The end-times & the signs are undeniable. There shall be strife, rumor of war, blood on the moon, the mark of the beast, rapture. Jesus will reign over Earthly affairs a thousand years {any 21st century faith-shaking momentum has petered out.}
   Once I'm bunched no better than ****** on a ****-house floor
you won't push so ******* me. If I live to 50, heaven forfend,
twenty-five millionths times a hundred fifty-two scraps of a
pound avoirdupois you'll sigh a pitiable one, a nuance of
a touch reminiscent of primer wife.
   My ultra ****, ulterior & backwise, I love you more than Mexicans love pizza, blacks do whites, America & her justice. It's April, it's Brasil y Colombia, it's me & you: ultra ****, cuntier than average, unreadable, unwilling, unsavory. If I could, I'd sell you for salvage or forage, or at a bulk rate.
   My bulbous nays are more lovely since pregnancy took
over upping milk production. Now I'm less sinful than
grateful, ½ drunk w/power & remembrance, less testy,
less cunty, more rambunctious & flavor-ready.
   As I've imbibed an ant's worth of spirits, I **** widely, consuming life-needy oxygen. It's cardiac time and flop-overs are everyplace. It's telepathy gone ****-ways wrong. Washington used to **** constantly—he almost killed himself several times.
   I could find myself writhing @ the wiener factory, as the floor is well-oiled & my knees are smooth & youthless. It would turn my life into a hot-doggish holiday romp thru sausage land. I could become teachish & instruction-weary. People might as well flock my way as had sheep when Jesus was cracking sassy, agitating Romans, destroying the good will of money-changers. Let us camp upon the hillsides, far removed from **** & partake the lushness of scrubless jungle trim.
   As a man I have feminine needs no wiener-factory tour
can address. I've dated plenty with many a heartrending
scene. Come down, bedded with a woman of divergent
stock, I find myself waxing philosophic. I burn daylight
with niceties, I placate & ween fair blessing.
  One man in Italy can't stop the way things Italian are. He could beseech the embassy until his pizza burns for all the good that'd do.
   I've been hard-pressed before. I've conquered my fears,
made peace with feminine needs, broke down, married
women, begat a child, sold items cheaply from the front yard.
   I could make friends with cops, and give up firemen.
{Kiss my ****, I'm just out of the bath.}
   I swoon under candlelight, by the fireside, smacked around with brass knuckles, throttled w/i an inch of precious lifestyle. Caught unawares, smitten by professional drain, I baffle taunters. Ultra ****: querulous ****; wild whomp; mine-mount...
   As a man I've found myself wobbling on skates.
At times, hurried, later because of not acting now.
   Oh U.C. {ultra ****}, can't you hear me: probing, tunneling, examining w/o license, for no better reason? I'm wide-ruled, I'm college-ruled, I'm 70 sheets @ 10½  x 8, I'm your best friend {you're allowed one: best}. Let's go somewhere, let's stay put, let's stick to your story for a change. I like some things illegal but I don't make a big deal about it.
   A girlfriend likes a nip, as when her bra's forgotten. She
gains nothing but trinkets. She owes her life to good-living
& self-assuredness. You can't dredge her backwaters, it's
easier to tuck. After all, what does it all mean anyway?
   It's wrong to covet the neighbor's wife but equally, it's wrong for her to covet my hairy ***. A neighbor may know no shame. Her mammae displayed keenly, its valley, the roundness & summits. She may stoop to pick up car keys or dance to the mail box, the breeze catching her frilly skirt, rain dampening all that's decent.
   One man can condemn her, another be jailer. I love
thy neighbor as thyself. So far I've got nothing
against her, nay nothing on her either.

Quick I will post for the sake of posting
Perhaps test the bloodwaters
Am I a true artist yet?

I have yet to offend so perhaps I am an early Israelite
Condemned to mental slavery for 40 years and 40 nights

I can't be an artist until I say ****
But we all know ****** did nothing wrong
In fact,
Most blessings come disguised as curse
God can only speak through the devils malfeasance
But nobody on this ******* planet wants that clue
I like the numbing effect of validation
****** pill of mind wash that **** out with soap please
Pathetic bronze soul worthy of enslavement
It's easier than doing it yourself

**** it man specific lives matter
**** it man the nation matters
**** yall lying ****** **** *******
Those are old ideologies


... (grandmas)

Let's just go to space and nuke the planet from orbit and restart
Rebuild the republic man!
Watch it crumble away to Rome

Before that I want to be remembered as a cunty man with no taste or class
And nothing to say

while being a man eater
she preferred
to be eaten
like a ***** bride for a vampyre

cleanse us from all unrighteousness

she liked her ****
bruised as beaten apples
with scorched *******
perforated with the needles
still glimmering in her areolas
oozing small rivulets of blood
as if alters to a weird mythic Jesus

do unto others

she spread her haunches wide
and knelt in supplication
her **** and glistening **** presented
for the scythe and whipping slick ******

let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace

she imagined
her body like a dirigible
exploding in mid air
her hands caressed her lush *****
with rabid fingers
like a woodpecker on amphetamines
girding an unlocked cage
of wet smeared lips

for this is my blood of the covenant

her **** drooled
as if a thousand baby tongues
dripped for a teasing tickling blade
knotty hung ***** and sagging *****
on the way to a glorious ascension

hard is the path to God

her life more dissolute
than *** **** videos
a rich lady languishing
with a growling animal inside her
and gold enough for life
but not too rich to bleed
extravagant tears of flaming petals
while licking devils *****  
and being eaten and ******
from ******* to gut
in a bottomless rusty bathtub
by a pantheon of fiends

come now, let us reason together, shes a horney *****

in her own rem noir dark city
of obsidian dreams
she woke up happy as a jitterbug
and full of grace
her cunty fingers tasted extra ******
and slippery as melted butter

beware

watch out for the boiling red eye
and the hillbilly keep out sign

so my next-door neighbour
is trying to sell his house,
    a complete **** of a man...
anyway, my other neighbour
goes to the estate agent
   that is mediating the sale...
  a sign: for sale goes up
one saturday...
    comes down the next...
      why?
   see, this is what happens when
neighbours take to fued...
     it's all boxing-gloves off &
          an army of chimps turned
berserker starting to rip of limbs
with their bare hands...
   ugly ****...
        beside the point...
well, beside the giggles of being
stuck in the middle...
       the neighbour who grassed
my other cunty neighbour
   because he had a company car
and was storing the company's
car petrol outside
                           his home?
besides that...
    the neighbour
        who ****** him over?
she's a rajter -
etymology would
         suggest a german
origin...
             god **** me, i really
want to make it sound proper in
english... not raj -
               or the taj mahal...
  and not: ray-ter either...
                        ah!
                           rye-ter!
what does it mean?
      someone who's
               into local gossip,
esp. someone discord among
his / her neighbours...
        listens to gossip,
                      to spread gossip,
(yes, gender neutral nouns)
     she's = he's a rajter / rye-ter;
almost sounds like like
         the origin of a wry writer.

Once I'm mulched you won't be so ******* me.
I see it's April, 700 years from now & church is in full swing. People are singing their praises for Jesus, due to return any moment now. The apocalypse is nighly {that means nearly} here, if prophesy holds firm. The end-times & the signs are undeniable. There shall be strife, rumor of war, blood on the moon, the mark of the beast, rapture. Jesus will reign over Earthly affairs a thousand years {any 21st century faith-shaking momentum has petered out.}
   Once I'm bunched no better than ****** on a ****-house floor
you won't push so ******* me. If I live to 50, heaven forfend,
twenty-five millionths times a hundred fifty-two scraps of a
pound avoirdupois you'll sigh a pitiable one, a nuance of
a touch reminiscent of primer wife.
   My ultra ****, ulterior & backwise, I love you more than Mexicans love pizza, blacks do whites, America & her justice. It's April, it's Brasil y Colombia, it's me & you: ultra ****, cuntier than average, unreadable, unwilling, unsavory. If I could, I'd sell you for salvage or forage, or at a bulk rate.
   My bulbous nays are more lovely since pregnancy took
over upping milk production. Now I'm less sinful than
grateful, ½ drunk w/power & remembrance, less testy,
less cunty, more rambunctious & flavor-ready.
   As I've imbibed an ant's worth of spirits, I **** widely, consuming life-needy oxygen. It's cardiac time and flop-overs are everyplace. It's telepathy gone ****-ways wrong. Washington used to **** constantly—he almost killed himself several times.
   I could find myself writhing @ the wiener factory, as the floor is well-oiled & my knees are smooth & youthless. It would turn my life into a hot-doggish holiday romp thru sausage land. I could become teachish & instruction-weary. People might as well flock my way as had sheep when Jesus was cracking sassy, agitating Romans, destroying the good will of money-changers. Let us camp upon the hillsides, far removed from **** & partake the lushness of scrubless jungle trim.
   As a man I have feminine needs no wiener-factory tour
can address. I've dated plenty with many a heartrending
scene. Come down, bedded with a woman of divergent
stock, I find myself waxing philosophic. I burn daylight
with niceties, I placate & ween fair blessing.
  One man in Italy can't stop the way things Italian are. He could beseech the embassy until his pizza burns for all the good that'd do.
   I've been hard-pressed before. I've conquered my fears,
made peace with feminine needs, broke down, married
women, begat a child, sold items cheaply from the front yard.
   I could make friends with cops, and give up firemen.
{Kiss my ****, I'm just out of the bath.}
   I swoon under candlelight, by the fireside, smacked around with brass knuckles, throttled w/i an inch of precious lifestyle. Caught unawares, smitten by professional drain, I baffle taunters. Ultra ****: querulous ****; wild whomp; mine-mount...
   As a man I've found myself wobbling on skates.
At times, hurried, later because of not acting now.
   Oh U.C. {ultra ****}, can't you hear me: probing, tunneling, examining w/o license, for no better reason? I'm wide-ruled, I'm college-ruled, I'm 70 sheets @ 10½  x 8, I'm your best friend {you're allowed one: best}. Let's go somewhere, let's stay put, let's stick to your story for a change. I like some things illegal but I don't make a big deal about it.
   A girlfriend likes a nip, as when her bra's forgotten. She
gains nothing but trinkets. She owes her life to good-living
& self-assuredness. You can't dredge her backwaters, it's
easier to tuck. After all, what does it all mean anyway?
   It's wrong to covet the neighbor's wife but equally, it's wrong for her to covet my hairy ***. A neighbor may know no shame. Her mammae displayed keenly, its valley, the roundness & summits. She may stoop to pick up car keys or dance to the mail box, the breeze catching her frilly skirt, rain dampening all that's decent.
   One man can condemn her, another be jailer. I love
thy neighbor as thyself. So far I've got nothing
against her, nay nothing on her either.