i know i said i was going to finish the trilogy of my screwed up dream this evening, however, i have decided that tonight i stray away from that final piece of the story if only to prolong my goosebumps and night terrors. call me scooby doo because i'm acting like i saw a ghost and i'm making a run for it. don't worry, by the end of the episode i will catch the old farmer scaring off kids and developers who want to turn his quiet land into an amusement park.
so i was being nostalgic today (IN MY MIND) and i started thinking about some things that helped turn my tides long, long ago. some of these things were good, some were bad and some were split down the center. nothing says "you need therapy and medication" like bi-polar life experiences and the characters therein. wth that said let me assure that this is the early portion of a bad experience, thus it is good, more specificly, wonderful & blissful.
the following was an actual event, described as best as i can possibly remember. also: harlequin romance called and they want their sweat drenched, quasi-pornographic paragraphs back. my reply was "no, you eat a dick".
i still find it amazing how very mouth-watering the shadows cast by bodies in front of televisions can be. the technology that was built to draw us in can, with the right kind of eyes and mind, negate itself by creating simple new things for our senses to drink in. become drunk with these so very life-like movies we now refer to as memories.
there we were again, glued to the plush leather sofa that was deemed as "ours". over stuffed, mocha colored, slightly worn due to the sporadic clawing of her ankle height dog. this was the last ship that would set sail on the sea of uncertainty in a darkened room that was vaguely decorated in the ever glowing light of the TV in the corner, angled from the left of the room toward the modern kitchen and dining area across the vast room. with our sneakers stretched out onto the ikea inspired coffee table, just in front of the bizarre taxidermied cow seating, we let our soft bodies sink back so that the pictures could lull us into a zombified state that only stoners can appreciate. the sounds blared, the pictures kept coming, our minds were being squeezed of their juices.
she loved to be nancy drew on those evenings together. the seemingly endless marathon of law & order would start and she would sit, without attempting to converse in any known way, and try to solve the crime before the script had run out and we all got clued in to the grand plot of that particular episode. to say that boredom was begging me to go kevorkian was an understatement. my restless mind began to wonder and bounce from topic to topic, idea to idea. inside of my noggin the swirl of the most random things danced a ballet to amuse and save my minimal intelligence.
thats when i noticed it. the shadow cast by her earlobe was far more interesting to me than benson & stabler busting a perp for hiding his dead girlfriend in a playground sandbox. i was indeed struck by the innocent appendage just jutting out, as if to say to me "so you're shit wrecked bored out of your mind too? join the club buckaroo." there sat a single flap of hearing gear: alone, neglected, full of sorrow. i knew that in order to clean my hands of the growing stupidity being pushed at me from the idiot box i would have to switch my attention to this taunting and delectable body part.
with all the stealth i could channel, i made my cloaked attack on her soft earlobe. adjusting my right hand to her thigh and leaning in ever so quietly, i opened my now watering mouth, and wrapped my teeth and lips around the shadow enveloped lobe. in a split second my upper teeth were clenched into the inner crescent and my tongue was gently lapping at the back. with eyes closed and mind as focused as it could be i felf the hot blood coursing through her, pumping at resting speeds to begin with, then accelerating with each passing second. at the same time my left arm shifted around her mid section, pulling her back to my chest, spooning her tender frame to me, pushing the two puzzle pieces together. it had only just begun to be fun, the stakes were going to rise higher and higher, i was sure of it.
the show she was watching was becoming less important to her, those beautiful lungs of her's were changing their depth and rate of breathing. slow and deep, abyssal depths of oxygen went into her veins, through her heart and rushing into every inch of her ever warming body. i could taste the mounting lust growing below her clothes, i could smell her passion and desire clawing their way to the surface. now my right hand was gripping the flesh of her leg intently, finger nails were being dug into the meat of her get away stick. let me crush her under the weight of this, allow me to show her why i'm testing her waters. her spine was pressed full force into my ribs, a mixture bone and flesh grinding into each other without apology, without remorse.
a light moan escaped her velvet lips and floated helplessly in the air around us, the sound of her wall coming down and her inner most animal rising up awaiting the moment when she herself could return the attack. i would not let that happen tonight, this was my opening to show her how cruel and vile i could be. i let my mouth drift down the side of her neck, spattering soft kisses and light bites on the skin the trailed to her shoulder, bread crumbs left behind just for show. my left hand, by now, has left her stomach and migrated up to her supple little breast. millimeters of cotton and synthetic fiber shielded her hot skin from my naked hands, i plan on keeping it that way, for now. i cup her in my hand and squeeze slightly up and gently roll the flank of my thumb over her hardened nipple, softly stroking the erect flesh. just so she isn't left comfortable in this moment i, in that very instant, drop my teeth completely into the back of her shoulder, clenched in deeply, willing to draw blood if thats what it takes.
her previous vocalization was executed by the newest sign of her pleasure. this sound was part moan part scream, a chorus of agony and ecstacy fist fighting their way through her throat and into the room. every muscle in her body tensed up. those little vertabre of hers pulled up and forced her chest out, arching into a stunning curve. the cupped breast now fought back against my gripping hand, her thighs tightened up and pushed her hips back into my lap, she was now sitting inside of me, wishing for freedom but showing every sign that she wasn't ready to leave. i left her thigh and moved my right hand to her right breast, as not to play favorites and allowed my left hand to wrap around the front of her left shoulder, pulling her even deeper into me. in this moment i felt it was only proper to attend to her left shoulder, thus releasing my death grip of teeth and repositioning them into her again. another jump of her frame. another primal groan escaped her and this time she began to pant, mouth agape.
well, shall we call this part one? yes? no? too bad, i will continue this tomorrow along with the final installment of "the PG porn night terror that wouldn't die". good night all. enjoy tomorrow.
Rants, Stories, Abstract Observations & Cruel Humor
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Seeking The Asylum
okay, so to continue putting the pieces from yesterday's post let me first say that i tried, to no motherfucking avail, to force the dream to play out and show me what came after the ever so pleasant tummy chewing that i previously described. it seems that my brain is leaking as little information as possible, taking the political approach it seems. damn that noise, damn it indeed.
this is my fictional romance, a great gatsby dream sequence, styled toward this made-up love affair that haunts me like an angry spirit. so tonight i will recap the prequel portion with a soundtrack that captivates me in so many ways: physically, mentally, sexually & creatively. dax, send me some magic love, send me some soul for this little adventure of keystrokes. alright, so the lead in looks a little like this...
multi-colored autumn leaves dazzle the entire field of my vision, oranges-red-yellows-browns, all slow dancing to a waltz that is beyond my ears. if beauty could kill you, this fall would be the greatest un-named assassin the world would never have the pleasure to tell others about. their ballroom is every street i walk down, every alley i find myself taking pictures in, their ballroom is neverending yet always full to capacity. today the breeze is sweetly caressing these haggard cheekbones and forehead. softly seductive and ever teasing my laugh lines into display, surely i love to be taunted by these gusts. fall has fallen, just like i have, ever so much over what seems like forever. an eternity in several weeks, a lifetime in no time at all.
cobblestones have led me to the river's bank, the spot of summer that is now long left to the sweetest sliver of chilled air currents. i raise my camera up to focus on the usual lone fisherman on his shitty boat, casting lines to fill his stomach at least today. some asshole is in my way, some ignorant beast wants to ruin my shot. this beast, as it were, is crouched down knotting laces in it's weathered chucks, low top chucks no less. i slip in a small chuckle and snap the shot anyway, a picture today is better than no picture at all. it stands, turns, takes notice of me standing stupidly with two handfuls of camera and starts laughing like a headcase. i can feel the red flush my face, the breeze becomes obsolete against my new found thermal climb. it approaches slowly, sizing me up like a predator to prey, taking in the bounty my guts will be for it's pride. the heat is climbing higher and higher inside of me, i know this figure, this beast. i have been infatuated and struck dumb by it several times before today. my dirty secret, my crush. hold back the garbage bag of words, don't you dare spew anything from your face.
"you know, you have to stop popping up like this. if i didn't know any better i would swear that you have me low-jacked."
it speaks to me like we're old friends, like we know each other. i've seen this beast at a distance, noticed it noticing me. i noticed back. i blushed for no reason, like some damned fool in middle school, getting giddy for no good reason other than the fact that this beast was enigmatic to me. today is the day i suppose, at least the weather is my saving grace, it has cooled my face back to it's natural tone of "blends in well with crowds".
"i saw you at the farmers' market wednesday afternoon, it seems you're terrible at waving back with that second set of eyes clogging up your hands. give it a rest already or at the very least get a neckstrap, saves time, trust me."
i just kind of nod, taking in it's rather worn leather jacket, boot-cut charcoal jeans, slayer shirt and triple toned knotted bun of hair. i think right about now i've been caught in a parallel dimension, stuck motionless, drinking in the absolute beauty of it's sheer existence. i nod again, it eyes me strangely and chuckles then turns and heads for the steps leading up to the parking lot. a single pause of movement and an explosion of a siren song from it's throat:
"okay, well just don't be late to the show. i'll be near the merch tables, trust me you won't be able to miss me, i'm going with a poison green theme up top this time. you know i've had it out for you for so long that i think you could take me in 10 minutes if you try, see you then, okay gilligan?"
another spellbound nod, another slightly frozen jerk of my head joint. i took it all in and fell to the sandy plain of existence i hoped was reality and not some sick sad, torturous dream. tonight: the show, poison green theme, merch tables. got it. the rush of blood flooded my head again, the swirling leaves foxtrot around my feet, up my legs and torso then cascade into the now darkening sky above, so this is what it feels like to be struck by lightening. next time it will kill me, i know it will.
in an instant i'm re-capping the camera, trotting up the steps into the parking lot and i head toward 5th street, just past there my cluttered and well shared apartment. my dirty secret has a voice and a fucked up sense of humor telling me to come to the show tonight. i can't help but feel like this is a joke that i'm the punch-line to. every foot step sends more leaves flying into the air, decorations for the moment i've been shit-wrecked nervour about since the first time i saw the delightful beast. a crush, a fleeting-giggling-ridiculous like for someone i don't even remotely know. fuck it, its only a crush, right? oh damn, i can't stop smiling, i look like an idiot, i am an idiot, i'm the one who blends in not stands out. things change.
the night sky meets the streets that are now filled with obsidian remnants of those wonderful leaves from before, no more colors can be seen, just undertones of deeper and deeper blacks-blues-greys. if being a lush for loving the simple lack of technicolor is a crime then throw the switch. this darkness that now climbs my running legs, is guiding me to my beast, evolving my desire to be on time into a sex crime doing somersaults in the lawns i speed past. if i make this mad dash alive i can fall over on the curb and bleed out of all my pores just because. i think this crush is killing me as i see the lights of the city streets where the fun starts and lives end.
the opening band is mid set when i make it to the top of the steps inside the show. they suck, i know their bassist and he's a serial douchebag. the green halo's of my eyes dart around the bar, past the groupie cunts to the merch tables. looks like a stood up kind of night, no surprise: plenty of feeling stupid though, both of these i'm quite used to by now. screw it, i'll enjoy the next band up, i shot their pictures for the netpage. luckily this wasn't at an art gallery or a resturant, that would be just like last time. it's simple: i'm easy to toy with, simply put. douche-boy's band is loading out when it hits like a sonic boom:
"good, you're here gilligan. dig the poison theme? thirsty? i'll get you a drink, PBR okay?"
i swear i melted into a puddle of human nerdgasm. i try to pull it together and end up with my tell-tale nod. fucking shit, i really have to fix that zombified nod. i know that wasn't just a single question. so now i like the 4 toned green hair dyed to perfection, i am indeed thirsty and yes i'll have a PBR. she's back in no time double fisted with sweaty cans of cheap beer. holy shit, i'm not really a drinker. it's the perfect day, drink up dumb ass you've earned it. the can clears my throat and chest of anything i ever thought i wanted to have inside my body. it takes everything left inside me to keep the smiling to a minimum, this crushing is crushing me. someone save me from myself.
"hey, the rest of these bands can eat it, want to ditch this and go roaming? come on, it'll be more exciting than a pointy stick in the eye, i promise."
without a reaction she grips my free hand and drags me back into the delicious night air and straight up 18th street toward the trendy spots and horrid low-rent places just beyond the last of the functioning street lights.
AGAIN, DVD ON SKIP. i keep gettting chunks of this story-dream-romance-fantasy-fucked up head trip. tomorrow night i'll drop the ending to this whole thing. i woke up from this part today with the scent of pumpkin spice everywhere around me. weird. slightly sexy but very weird considering i'm the only one who digs that scent here.
so until tomorrow night, i bid you all i wonderful sunrise soon enough.
this is my fictional romance, a great gatsby dream sequence, styled toward this made-up love affair that haunts me like an angry spirit. so tonight i will recap the prequel portion with a soundtrack that captivates me in so many ways: physically, mentally, sexually & creatively. dax, send me some magic love, send me some soul for this little adventure of keystrokes. alright, so the lead in looks a little like this...
multi-colored autumn leaves dazzle the entire field of my vision, oranges-red-yellows-browns, all slow dancing to a waltz that is beyond my ears. if beauty could kill you, this fall would be the greatest un-named assassin the world would never have the pleasure to tell others about. their ballroom is every street i walk down, every alley i find myself taking pictures in, their ballroom is neverending yet always full to capacity. today the breeze is sweetly caressing these haggard cheekbones and forehead. softly seductive and ever teasing my laugh lines into display, surely i love to be taunted by these gusts. fall has fallen, just like i have, ever so much over what seems like forever. an eternity in several weeks, a lifetime in no time at all.
cobblestones have led me to the river's bank, the spot of summer that is now long left to the sweetest sliver of chilled air currents. i raise my camera up to focus on the usual lone fisherman on his shitty boat, casting lines to fill his stomach at least today. some asshole is in my way, some ignorant beast wants to ruin my shot. this beast, as it were, is crouched down knotting laces in it's weathered chucks, low top chucks no less. i slip in a small chuckle and snap the shot anyway, a picture today is better than no picture at all. it stands, turns, takes notice of me standing stupidly with two handfuls of camera and starts laughing like a headcase. i can feel the red flush my face, the breeze becomes obsolete against my new found thermal climb. it approaches slowly, sizing me up like a predator to prey, taking in the bounty my guts will be for it's pride. the heat is climbing higher and higher inside of me, i know this figure, this beast. i have been infatuated and struck dumb by it several times before today. my dirty secret, my crush. hold back the garbage bag of words, don't you dare spew anything from your face.
"you know, you have to stop popping up like this. if i didn't know any better i would swear that you have me low-jacked."
it speaks to me like we're old friends, like we know each other. i've seen this beast at a distance, noticed it noticing me. i noticed back. i blushed for no reason, like some damned fool in middle school, getting giddy for no good reason other than the fact that this beast was enigmatic to me. today is the day i suppose, at least the weather is my saving grace, it has cooled my face back to it's natural tone of "blends in well with crowds".
"i saw you at the farmers' market wednesday afternoon, it seems you're terrible at waving back with that second set of eyes clogging up your hands. give it a rest already or at the very least get a neckstrap, saves time, trust me."
i just kind of nod, taking in it's rather worn leather jacket, boot-cut charcoal jeans, slayer shirt and triple toned knotted bun of hair. i think right about now i've been caught in a parallel dimension, stuck motionless, drinking in the absolute beauty of it's sheer existence. i nod again, it eyes me strangely and chuckles then turns and heads for the steps leading up to the parking lot. a single pause of movement and an explosion of a siren song from it's throat:
"okay, well just don't be late to the show. i'll be near the merch tables, trust me you won't be able to miss me, i'm going with a poison green theme up top this time. you know i've had it out for you for so long that i think you could take me in 10 minutes if you try, see you then, okay gilligan?"
another spellbound nod, another slightly frozen jerk of my head joint. i took it all in and fell to the sandy plain of existence i hoped was reality and not some sick sad, torturous dream. tonight: the show, poison green theme, merch tables. got it. the rush of blood flooded my head again, the swirling leaves foxtrot around my feet, up my legs and torso then cascade into the now darkening sky above, so this is what it feels like to be struck by lightening. next time it will kill me, i know it will.
in an instant i'm re-capping the camera, trotting up the steps into the parking lot and i head toward 5th street, just past there my cluttered and well shared apartment. my dirty secret has a voice and a fucked up sense of humor telling me to come to the show tonight. i can't help but feel like this is a joke that i'm the punch-line to. every foot step sends more leaves flying into the air, decorations for the moment i've been shit-wrecked nervour about since the first time i saw the delightful beast. a crush, a fleeting-giggling-ridiculous like for someone i don't even remotely know. fuck it, its only a crush, right? oh damn, i can't stop smiling, i look like an idiot, i am an idiot, i'm the one who blends in not stands out. things change.
the night sky meets the streets that are now filled with obsidian remnants of those wonderful leaves from before, no more colors can be seen, just undertones of deeper and deeper blacks-blues-greys. if being a lush for loving the simple lack of technicolor is a crime then throw the switch. this darkness that now climbs my running legs, is guiding me to my beast, evolving my desire to be on time into a sex crime doing somersaults in the lawns i speed past. if i make this mad dash alive i can fall over on the curb and bleed out of all my pores just because. i think this crush is killing me as i see the lights of the city streets where the fun starts and lives end.
the opening band is mid set when i make it to the top of the steps inside the show. they suck, i know their bassist and he's a serial douchebag. the green halo's of my eyes dart around the bar, past the groupie cunts to the merch tables. looks like a stood up kind of night, no surprise: plenty of feeling stupid though, both of these i'm quite used to by now. screw it, i'll enjoy the next band up, i shot their pictures for the netpage. luckily this wasn't at an art gallery or a resturant, that would be just like last time. it's simple: i'm easy to toy with, simply put. douche-boy's band is loading out when it hits like a sonic boom:
"good, you're here gilligan. dig the poison theme? thirsty? i'll get you a drink, PBR okay?"
i swear i melted into a puddle of human nerdgasm. i try to pull it together and end up with my tell-tale nod. fucking shit, i really have to fix that zombified nod. i know that wasn't just a single question. so now i like the 4 toned green hair dyed to perfection, i am indeed thirsty and yes i'll have a PBR. she's back in no time double fisted with sweaty cans of cheap beer. holy shit, i'm not really a drinker. it's the perfect day, drink up dumb ass you've earned it. the can clears my throat and chest of anything i ever thought i wanted to have inside my body. it takes everything left inside me to keep the smiling to a minimum, this crushing is crushing me. someone save me from myself.
"hey, the rest of these bands can eat it, want to ditch this and go roaming? come on, it'll be more exciting than a pointy stick in the eye, i promise."
without a reaction she grips my free hand and drags me back into the delicious night air and straight up 18th street toward the trendy spots and horrid low-rent places just beyond the last of the functioning street lights.
AGAIN, DVD ON SKIP. i keep gettting chunks of this story-dream-romance-fantasy-fucked up head trip. tomorrow night i'll drop the ending to this whole thing. i woke up from this part today with the scent of pumpkin spice everywhere around me. weird. slightly sexy but very weird considering i'm the only one who digs that scent here.
so until tomorrow night, i bid you all i wonderful sunrise soon enough.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Thought Bubble
i don't know if it was the nyquil and lack of sleep or my sheer over-active imagination that caused this post. in either case i woke up in a heated mess after, what i'm about to describe, played out in my head.
no names/physical descriptions will be expanded upon due to the fact that this is a prelude to my next post, which will be soon, if i can muster the lexiconal spirits to help me scribe, what can only be refered to as, a fictional romance and heartbreak. i'm going tarentino and starting with the fun part.
every last blood cell inside of me was chanting for it, begging this assailant to do me in with all the power they could wrench from within their volcanic loins. i wanted it all: the pain, pleasure, desire, carnal knowledge & pure hatred for the silence that surrounded us. put a bullet into the forehead of this quiet night, spill its blood and splatter its brains all over this room.
all i can see is the plain jane, off-white ceiling. the rotating shadow of the fan casting circles like five geometric buzzards, waiting to dine on the left over rotten flesh that we would soon be shedding all over the bed and floor. i'm breathing like i've had too many strong drinks, the skin covering me is putting off heat like i've never felt before, this is what i've been longing for. the form hovering above is slender and without definition, yet it is somehow luring me. just let it happen. gentle kisses coat my cheeks, lips, neck, ears and chest. soft hot pedals of satisfaction are floating down from within this form, teasing my mind into a false sense of love, a fictional romance. their hands are pressed firmly into my shoulders, keeping me in plain view, settled into position for an assault of physical pins & needles. these hands are on fire and scalding the epidermic nerves into submission.
gently, the form runs the tips of its eyelashes across my throat, a spring breeze style of torture that no one would ever wish to stop. another wave of slow, soft kisses and eyelash beatings are unleashed upon the screaming pores of my skin. this form lifts itself up and back, straddling my waist while still forcing my figure into the same position. the arc of its back grows longer and more defined, each vertabre showing the connection from skull to small of its back. something so sinister has never been so completely seductive and sexual to me. awestruck and spellbound, i am powerless beneath the divine spectre that is toying with me on a cellular level and beyond, i have given control over to it and now the fun is about to start.
in one swift motion the figure presses its entire self into my naked, now sweat soaked, chest and whispers into my mind, with whatever mouth it has, and says:
"look but don't touch. touch but don't taste. taste but don't swallow."
one of its hands slides under the nape of my neck, cradling the connection between my skull and my spine. the deep cold of the hand against me causes my skin to flood with goosebumps, widens my eyes to their full capacity, makes the jewelry in my nipples scream for release and crams an arctic breath into my lungs. this full reversal of temperature is as sudden as a high speed car crash, my psyche is left mangled. this beautiful blank body holding me still purrs ever so slightly into my right ear, its warm breathing tingles over my earlobe and down my collar bone. the goosebumps keep coming in tidal waves all over me, a constant ripple effect of bizarre pleasure. the air of its mouth moves slowly down to my chest, the heat of its lungs finding its target. in some strange way i know that i could be cut to ribbons right now and have no regrets about what may or may not ensue.
the form lowers itself down to my ribcage, resting their left ear to where my heart resides, listening to the valves pump the lifeforce inside of me. the purring starts again but only for a moment. it rises again to arch its back, several pops release the pressure from having been locked in a lowered position. its voice echoes inside my mind again, this time with a spritely tone:
"don't mind me, just don't be surprised if you never have it better."
its head dives like a bolt of lightening and latches onto my stomach, warm saliva concentrating on a single spot, then it hits. its teeth have dug into the skin and muscle tissue, injecting a sharp barrage of blissful pain into my torso. as much as i long to scream i can't. i can't speak any audible words, the only sound coming out of me is a whimper coupled with a sigh of release. this serrated, aching pain is candy-striped with an unexplainable delight of pure ecstacy. a long island iced tea of feeling from both my mind and body. its not even close to orgasm, but it sure as hell could play out that way.
THATS WHERE I WOKE UP! what the fuck is wrong with me?!?! it never gets past this point! i have some of the greatest PG sex dreams, i swear!
so, that is the fun part of my fictional romance. this is one of four parts, that when combined, make for a fictional romance that ends in heartbreak. it keeps happening, lets say, 5 times a week for about a year now. does anyone have some insight into this?! i could use some info on how to make this thing finish itself or fuck off, permenantly. seriously.
as i said, i will try to muster the rest of it another time, in another post.
geez, this phantom pervert is twisting my brain and lighting un-needed fires in my no no parts.
someone help. lol, someone saves me from the phantom tease!
no names/physical descriptions will be expanded upon due to the fact that this is a prelude to my next post, which will be soon, if i can muster the lexiconal spirits to help me scribe, what can only be refered to as, a fictional romance and heartbreak. i'm going tarentino and starting with the fun part.
every last blood cell inside of me was chanting for it, begging this assailant to do me in with all the power they could wrench from within their volcanic loins. i wanted it all: the pain, pleasure, desire, carnal knowledge & pure hatred for the silence that surrounded us. put a bullet into the forehead of this quiet night, spill its blood and splatter its brains all over this room.
all i can see is the plain jane, off-white ceiling. the rotating shadow of the fan casting circles like five geometric buzzards, waiting to dine on the left over rotten flesh that we would soon be shedding all over the bed and floor. i'm breathing like i've had too many strong drinks, the skin covering me is putting off heat like i've never felt before, this is what i've been longing for. the form hovering above is slender and without definition, yet it is somehow luring me. just let it happen. gentle kisses coat my cheeks, lips, neck, ears and chest. soft hot pedals of satisfaction are floating down from within this form, teasing my mind into a false sense of love, a fictional romance. their hands are pressed firmly into my shoulders, keeping me in plain view, settled into position for an assault of physical pins & needles. these hands are on fire and scalding the epidermic nerves into submission.
gently, the form runs the tips of its eyelashes across my throat, a spring breeze style of torture that no one would ever wish to stop. another wave of slow, soft kisses and eyelash beatings are unleashed upon the screaming pores of my skin. this form lifts itself up and back, straddling my waist while still forcing my figure into the same position. the arc of its back grows longer and more defined, each vertabre showing the connection from skull to small of its back. something so sinister has never been so completely seductive and sexual to me. awestruck and spellbound, i am powerless beneath the divine spectre that is toying with me on a cellular level and beyond, i have given control over to it and now the fun is about to start.
in one swift motion the figure presses its entire self into my naked, now sweat soaked, chest and whispers into my mind, with whatever mouth it has, and says:
"look but don't touch. touch but don't taste. taste but don't swallow."
one of its hands slides under the nape of my neck, cradling the connection between my skull and my spine. the deep cold of the hand against me causes my skin to flood with goosebumps, widens my eyes to their full capacity, makes the jewelry in my nipples scream for release and crams an arctic breath into my lungs. this full reversal of temperature is as sudden as a high speed car crash, my psyche is left mangled. this beautiful blank body holding me still purrs ever so slightly into my right ear, its warm breathing tingles over my earlobe and down my collar bone. the goosebumps keep coming in tidal waves all over me, a constant ripple effect of bizarre pleasure. the air of its mouth moves slowly down to my chest, the heat of its lungs finding its target. in some strange way i know that i could be cut to ribbons right now and have no regrets about what may or may not ensue.
the form lowers itself down to my ribcage, resting their left ear to where my heart resides, listening to the valves pump the lifeforce inside of me. the purring starts again but only for a moment. it rises again to arch its back, several pops release the pressure from having been locked in a lowered position. its voice echoes inside my mind again, this time with a spritely tone:
"don't mind me, just don't be surprised if you never have it better."
its head dives like a bolt of lightening and latches onto my stomach, warm saliva concentrating on a single spot, then it hits. its teeth have dug into the skin and muscle tissue, injecting a sharp barrage of blissful pain into my torso. as much as i long to scream i can't. i can't speak any audible words, the only sound coming out of me is a whimper coupled with a sigh of release. this serrated, aching pain is candy-striped with an unexplainable delight of pure ecstacy. a long island iced tea of feeling from both my mind and body. its not even close to orgasm, but it sure as hell could play out that way.
THATS WHERE I WOKE UP! what the fuck is wrong with me?!?! it never gets past this point! i have some of the greatest PG sex dreams, i swear!
so, that is the fun part of my fictional romance. this is one of four parts, that when combined, make for a fictional romance that ends in heartbreak. it keeps happening, lets say, 5 times a week for about a year now. does anyone have some insight into this?! i could use some info on how to make this thing finish itself or fuck off, permenantly. seriously.
as i said, i will try to muster the rest of it another time, in another post.
geez, this phantom pervert is twisting my brain and lighting un-needed fires in my no no parts.
someone help. lol, someone saves me from the phantom tease!
Friday, March 18, 2011
"Cross Contamination"
Everyone, this is Mamimi. Mamimi, everyone. Now that we're all friends, let the games begin.
in the short, nanosecond sized span of time i have spent here in the vast cosmic clusterfuck we call our world/galaxy/universe etc. i know so very little in the grand scheme of things. i'm okay with it, are you?
it would be safe to say that words are valued, for the most part, much less to most than say MONEY, SEX, POWER, STREET CRED. i find this little disaster we have made for ourselves to be udderly insane and sickening. we as a species have lost touch with what words can and will do to the path in which we head. look, i'm not preaching or trying to indoctrinate you with my own failed ideals, i'm just stating the obvious in order to set up for yet another rant about how fucking stupid the majority of humanity really is. face it: we all do what works for us, for me, it's ranting about the lack of intelligence that thrives on the microwaves of our electronic BDSM styled "devices" that we all cling to in order to let Johnny know, via facebook/twitter/myspace/AIM/skype, that today was "OMG, so effin' shitty!" we have played into the world's sick fantasy of cyber control...yet i sit here oddly enough, posting on a cyber based notbook page, instead of actually writing. like i said, MY FAILED IDEALS.
SO...
let me begin by saying that no matter what you do in life, you will eventually fail. not just fail but rather fall from the sky with your wings of wax & feathers scorching your well maintained body as you do the mythical "skydive of exploding death". your ass will meld with the inside of your empty skull, mash your insides into an organic rubik's cube and then, without incident, dry anal prison bitch date rape your life with a broken broomstick named pedro. trust and believe: it will happen.
it's not the end of the world, i swear, not yet anyway.
when you fail you are taught to get back up, dust yourself off and try again. does this always apply to your failure?! is this a cardinal rule for an "epic fail" or even a "super fail"?! can it only be applied to regular everyday fails?! no. every fail is different, just like the 2% of people in the world who don't/won't/refuse to buy into the bullshit that is fed to all of us by the news media that ravages this planet. this age old piece of "wisdom" needs to be revamped for the world of today, it needs to be sent to the editor's desk so they can laugh at it, scribble all over the page in red pen and then hand it back to you and state that "you are fired from life for being a stern believer in garbage your sickly grandmother told you when you were a child".
side note: my grandmother never spoke those words to me because she knows that life sucks, you will fail but you have to cling to the good parts. she's a bi-polar-diabetic-ex drunk who outlived her husband and 1 of her children. she has a heart of gold and a mind like an uncleaned gutter, may she laugh for all eternity, or whatever comes after this clusterfuck we have entitled "life".
so, we need to rewrite the slogan of positivity. easy, right?! fuck no! slogans are accidents from a stoned mind, ask anyone who has made their own t-shirts...(mine were "chode", "twat-waffle" and "oedipus rex & the momma's boys"). if you didn't get that joke, you are only mildly educated and need to go back to english class and read up on your little known greek tragedies. so the old slogan is out and the new one has yet to be slapped onto the bumper of a bondo-colored VW bug. fucking super, another fail. i have tried for years to replace this haggard slogan, tried and...you guessed it...FAILED. so tonight i try again: feast your eyes on...
"When you fail: get back up, dust yourself off & do something else you know you can't complete...for fun."
no good? shit, i knew it. okay, try this one on for size...
"When you fail: give the fuck up and get plastered!"
okay, ALMOST there but almost only counts for JACK SHIT...almost is a prettier word for FAIL.
"When you fail: pull a Ryu and HA-DO-KEN the shit out of whoever or whatever made you fail."
getting better, right? come on, i made a pop-culture reference and added a dash of violence! no good? fine.
"When you fail: eatt shit, die, get ressurected and pass judgement on everyone else."
oops! a bit sacreligious i assume. too bad, the freedom of speech goes hand in hand with offensive references, profanities, violence, sex, drug use and the letter "F & U" and the number "13".
i think this time i may have an answer, or at least, my favorite remastered version of the words of wisdom.
"When you fail: don't be shocked, don't give up but try something a little more your league."
see! it's vaguely positive, lacks violence/sex/profanity/offensive language/drug use.
all i'm really getting to is the idea that failing isn't as bad as everyone makes it out to be. without failure there is no victory. the balance of the world is inevitable.
good & evil. happy & sad. sour & sweet. failure & triumph.
personally, i don't buy into religious books and their delightful tales of poorly drawn characters who listen to the wizard of oz, or at least the man behind the curtain. it's not that i'm agnostic or an atheist. i'm a realist.
plain. simple. not buying the scriptures. not preaching the "good word". just a realist.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Wasted Talent
someone asked me why there hasn't been a post since the last big judeo-chrisitan, holes in the hands blow-out special.
easy answer: i'm lazy and was doing more people watching than actual writing...sad but true.
with that expreessed and imprinted on the small amount of naked flesh left on the web, i can now venture forward into the next slab of textual retardation that will now follow:
THE COLLECTIVE INTELLIGENCE OF RICHMOND VIRGINIA IS FAILING.
when you work at a HUB of travel, where the people flow through your city like an unwanted heavy period, you tend to keep several notebooks and scratch pads of observations that detail the ridiculous portraits of these walking ejaculations...moving punchlines in suits and haggard casual wear. however, in the grand scheme of things at the HUB, the employees are the embodiment of what is indeed wrong with the fucking world.
baggage chuckers (handlers implies care for the bags, so fuck that), gate workers, gift shop peddlers, pilots, flight attendants (those pretentious nom whores [men & women]), skycaps, rental car desk cunts, etc. the people who are depraved enough to work in an airport are the darkest, sickest and most unbalanced pricks on the face of the earth. all of these people are the ones put into circulation to fuck your travel package into a bloody mess and potentially give your would-be happy memories a chronic case of memory AIDS. what should've been happy thoughts are now, no doubt, images of faces you'd absolutely love to beat the immortal shit out of. airports feed off of misery, depression, just missed boarding rituals and the ever present stench of babbling children shoveling stale animal crackers into their non stop talking chatter holes, while the so called parents are dicking around on their blackberries instead of keeping their mentally challenged-walking wasted potential from getting shredded into taco cheese by the escalators.
annoying children are only half of the problem people, their "parents" are the hot zone for shitty attitudes, poor home training and lack of respect & fear of strangers. what ever happened to parents scaring the next generation into a state of perpetual paranoia by telling them that "strangers will snatch you up and fucking kill you"?!
public places, as we all know, are full of elightenment and danger. its a 50-50 shot of having a boss-as-fuck memory made OR being traumatized beyond all recognition.
so, when you come to richmond virginia, with your kids, remember this:
WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO WATCH YOUR WALKING TAX RETURNS.
IT IS YOUR JOB TO PROTECT YOUR CHILD FROM BODY SNATCHERS.
OUR AIRPORT IS NOT GOING TO BE THE SCENE OF A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION.
YOU ARE NOT REALLY WELCOME, WE JUST LIKE MONEY, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE.
easy answer: i'm lazy and was doing more people watching than actual writing...sad but true.
with that expreessed and imprinted on the small amount of naked flesh left on the web, i can now venture forward into the next slab of textual retardation that will now follow:
THE COLLECTIVE INTELLIGENCE OF RICHMOND VIRGINIA IS FAILING.
when you work at a HUB of travel, where the people flow through your city like an unwanted heavy period, you tend to keep several notebooks and scratch pads of observations that detail the ridiculous portraits of these walking ejaculations...moving punchlines in suits and haggard casual wear. however, in the grand scheme of things at the HUB, the employees are the embodiment of what is indeed wrong with the fucking world.
baggage chuckers (handlers implies care for the bags, so fuck that), gate workers, gift shop peddlers, pilots, flight attendants (those pretentious nom whores [men & women]), skycaps, rental car desk cunts, etc. the people who are depraved enough to work in an airport are the darkest, sickest and most unbalanced pricks on the face of the earth. all of these people are the ones put into circulation to fuck your travel package into a bloody mess and potentially give your would-be happy memories a chronic case of memory AIDS. what should've been happy thoughts are now, no doubt, images of faces you'd absolutely love to beat the immortal shit out of. airports feed off of misery, depression, just missed boarding rituals and the ever present stench of babbling children shoveling stale animal crackers into their non stop talking chatter holes, while the so called parents are dicking around on their blackberries instead of keeping their mentally challenged-walking wasted potential from getting shredded into taco cheese by the escalators.
annoying children are only half of the problem people, their "parents" are the hot zone for shitty attitudes, poor home training and lack of respect & fear of strangers. what ever happened to parents scaring the next generation into a state of perpetual paranoia by telling them that "strangers will snatch you up and fucking kill you"?!
public places, as we all know, are full of elightenment and danger. its a 50-50 shot of having a boss-as-fuck memory made OR being traumatized beyond all recognition.
so, when you come to richmond virginia, with your kids, remember this:
WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO WATCH YOUR WALKING TAX RETURNS.
IT IS YOUR JOB TO PROTECT YOUR CHILD FROM BODY SNATCHERS.
OUR AIRPORT IS NOT GOING TO BE THE SCENE OF A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION.
YOU ARE NOT REALLY WELCOME, WE JUST LIKE MONEY, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE.
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