. . .  desolate                                                                                                                             keyword

 

                                                                                    if a word triggered something in him

he ran with it

just to see where the hell it was going

words                                                                                                                                                 did that to him

they were like skirts

cleavages                                                                                                                                               a fast bright smile   teeth

big clear eyes

confidence                                                                                                                                 creativity

brains

shake the box

dump it out onto the floor

and if among all those delectable assets  

there are no brains

no way

theres no way around no brains

sex can be great

everyone he knew  man or woman  would agree with him

sex is great

hed be a dick not to concede that

but he knew dicks who went with pros because sex was the only thing

the only thing

that mattered to them

perhaps

Insecurities

                                                                                                                                 

Yah think  Perhaps up to their freakin eyeballs

Why

Who knows

They didnt

And they werent gonna waste their time to figure it out

“Times money!”

and the pros earned their money

Insecurities

up to their freakin eyeballs

--   Really

Why not grease yourself up and masturbate

Safe sex

Your imagination has no bounds

No taboos

--   I dont do that

--   Because

--   Because asshole real men dont jack off

--   Im a real man  I do

But what I dont do is spend money on pros

You dig theres another real person at the other end of your transaction  Right

They got as much a life as you do

But OH they aint coming to you to get their rocks off  Are they

You  dont  get  their  rocks  off

Unlike you

--   Nobody makes her fuck

--   You know that

You know that nobody makes her fuck

Christ                                                                                                                                              Look in a mirror

Somebodys gotta be making her fuck

Because shes fuckin you

Really

You gotta face only a mother can love

Which brings us right back to jacking off

No taboos

                                                                                                       . . .  desolate

  

                                                                         

2112,  Friday,  15  8. 14

he saw 

witnessed

His arms and legs hewed

His heart split

and approaching Him

                                        he could not take his eyes off His

they should have been dead

gone out

                                                                                                                                        

yet                                                                                                                                                        as His blood went flat

turned black

cooled

His humors slick

like lamp oil

steeped and spoiling into the earth

and the earth

always a happy willful mouth    always willing to embrace any lust given it 

                                  

His eyes

in His eyes

those hardwood embers

there remained a willing

an electric brilliant blue quivering

the vagrant ashes groped

attempting to coalesce over Him

over His sheared wounds

trying desperately to blacken and suffocate them

                                                                      close them under like cold dark waters 

take forsaken kittens in stoneweighted sacks to the slimy bottoms of fetid ponds                            

the ashes wanted Him snuffed

His sputters and itching spasms stilled

vying deep

deep inside their cool stone limbs and torso

His intricate wired currents refused

His stern body struggled

defying Death

the Hermit erred

he was unwise

too Happy  too Elated  too hasty using his Light blade

to relish his revenge

cauterize His wounds with wont to watch His body

rendered Unmercifully

into living pieces

                                                                                                                          

the Hermit   unable to resist his pleasure

and Obscenity

and erred

his cleaves and splits

their blunt ends

fired black

the nerves writhing beneath

alive

they fingered and picked at His wounds

                     

His nerves prying apart the solder

from inside out they teased and pushed and pulled   

                                                                                                and the hard-ash clinging

to the Smotes

the hard-ash softening   their torture weakening

their horrible burns proving inept

unable to repel the steady vehemence

of His gorgeous blue rage

                                                            

His stumps begged

and as tar oozes atop the oilygreen surfaces of retching tarpits

the harsh black scars warmed

grew elastic   and began to stretch

His wounds mewed through pinholes and scant schism

and their mewing was heard by the Wind

It bore them to Boreas Its fomenter for him to listen

to hear the brave Wounded cries

and Boreas laying with Pitys was enraged

and he returned the Wind to Him

to swab and minister His blackened purple stumps with its salty breath

and Wailing

the Wind threw its strong pity on Him

Its pity  delicious and wet

and the stranger

the witness 

watched the Wind 

reassemble Him

and fill the billows of His lungs again

with Life-rendering Air 

  

2103,  Saturday,  2  8. 14