08/07/2016
Q:,What do you wear in bed?
A: Sunglasses.
Wrestling dreams.
Kropotkin. Dolphins. Glad to be Gay.
Something stirred me today. On this day the 8th day of the 7th month of the year of our Lord, two thousand and sixteen. I had a mini rage against the impotent dread of going down the drain without resistance (because resistance is futile.) Instead of succumbing to this dread feeling of floppy haplessness, I had an insurrection. You heard me, an insurrection against my listless and desultory incapacity to act with vigor and strength; to stiffen my resolve and penetrate the throbbing maw of beckoning engorgement which was oozing towards me like a gelatinous glob of inexorable insatiability, exhausting my will and draining my resources with the dripping flesh of her false allure and the wide open gape of her crotchless panties. No! I am a dolphin! I am wet and fast and skittish! I don't need to enter your pulsating house of inevitable surrender; I'm not a praying mantis, waiting to be devoured in some frantic aftermath of post connubial cannibalism. Fuck that! I'm not the smartest fishy in the ocean but I'm not so profoundly imbecilic as to jump straight onto your dishy either. So, yes, for an array of good reasons mostly revolving around the legitimate fear of getting my arse spanked by a hot totty called karma, I have bailed out of my limpalonga Shakespeare project which was lurching towards an ignominious date with Lady tepida Von destination, that vain cow of lukewarm recedivism who would have made us regret and rue the decision to have put on the half baked show as passionately as jeeves would have regretted Wooster wearing blue socks with brown trousers. So no, it's not going to be a valiant failure masquerading as a supine gesture towards the greater good and costing me a frigging packet into the bargain, it's just not gonna happen and that my friend is that. Trip along now to many days hence, as yet unwritten by this hand, before we see whether vindication prevails or regret trumps up to fetter the consequences of todays action.
Decisions are empowering. Now I feel like a punk. People used to appear to be scared of us because we had a safety pin in our ear and a roar in our hearts. And that feeling comes back when you invoke the mercy of contingent abrogation and reverse the orthodoxy of feeble acquiescence. Then the world becomes a brighter place. Even the dripping tunnel we're wading through has sharper sounds a cooler breeze softer moss and happier rats. So to sink into the feather soft bed of invocation and delight; take off our pants and bra and put on my shades, maybe have a squirt of Chanel or what the hell and let's go wresting in our dreams for we know that dreams are toys and as for Kropotkin, gentle anarchist though be he may, he can keep the struggles which life is made of, for yet another day.
Q:,What do you wear in bed?
A: Sunglasses.
Wrestling dreams.
Kropotkin. Dolphins. Glad to be Gay.
Something stirred me today. On this day the 8th day of the 7th month of the year of our Lord, two thousand and sixteen. I had a mini rage against the impotent dread of going down the drain without resistance (because resistance is futile.) Instead of succumbing to this dread feeling of floppy haplessness, I had an insurrection. You heard me, an insurrection against my listless and desultory incapacity to act with vigor and strength; to stiffen my resolve and penetrate the throbbing maw of beckoning engorgement which was oozing towards me like a gelatinous glob of inexorable insatiability, exhausting my will and draining my resources with the dripping flesh of her false allure and the wide open gape of her crotchless panties. No! I am a dolphin! I am wet and fast and skittish! I don't need to enter your pulsating house of inevitable surrender; I'm not a praying mantis, waiting to be devoured in some frantic aftermath of post connubial cannibalism. Fuck that! I'm not the smartest fishy in the ocean but I'm not so profoundly imbecilic as to jump straight onto your dishy either. So, yes, for an array of good reasons mostly revolving around the legitimate fear of getting my arse spanked by a hot totty called karma, I have bailed out of my limpalonga Shakespeare project which was lurching towards an ignominious date with Lady tepida Von destination, that vain cow of lukewarm recedivism who would have made us regret and rue the decision to have put on the half baked show as passionately as jeeves would have regretted Wooster wearing blue socks with brown trousers. So no, it's not going to be a valiant failure masquerading as a supine gesture towards the greater good and costing me a frigging packet into the bargain, it's just not gonna happen and that my friend is that. Trip along now to many days hence, as yet unwritten by this hand, before we see whether vindication prevails or regret trumps up to fetter the consequences of todays action.
Decisions are empowering. Now I feel like a punk. People used to appear to be scared of us because we had a safety pin in our ear and a roar in our hearts. And that feeling comes back when you invoke the mercy of contingent abrogation and reverse the orthodoxy of feeble acquiescence. Then the world becomes a brighter place. Even the dripping tunnel we're wading through has sharper sounds a cooler breeze softer moss and happier rats. So to sink into the feather soft bed of invocation and delight; take off our pants and bra and put on my shades, maybe have a squirt of Chanel or what the hell and let's go wresting in our dreams for we know that dreams are toys and as for Kropotkin, gentle anarchist though be he may, he can keep the struggles which life is made of, for yet another day.
I can't help but pay respect and mark my affection and admiration for the playfulness and polemical audacity of Milo Yiannopolous, the gay conservative free speech warrior who made me laugh for the first time since grandpa pig got his seeds stolen by some naughty birds. Sing if you're glad to be gay Milo, I hope Francis Bacon comes back to paint you. I love you so much you wonderful funny hilarious bender.
Now I've got my dream shades on and am transitioning into a sublime indifference towards the world the flesh and the devil in the profound hope that the shadow of my muse, the catalyst of my passion will take her nail polished fingers to rip my shirt apart and lay bare the pumping secrets of my heart for the sake of the God of love and life and for the vested memory of Baudelaire, beating up the poor and skipping death at every gallop in the mystical atheist city vaingloriously invoked and provocateured by the heady aroma of your fleurs du mal. Thank you God, for the painters, the daddies, the lovers and the off to Bratislava tourists; you're my favourite persons in the world and I love you with all my hope.
Sent from my iPhone
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