| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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alone with everybody the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh. there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate. nobody ever finds the one. the city dumps fill the junkyards fill the madhouses fill the hospitals fill the graveyards fill nothing else fills. |
"Sexual intercourse is like kicking death in the ass while singing." ----from NOTES OF A DIRTY OLD MAN On a big TALES OF ORDINARY MADNESS kick right now.....particularly liking "Notes of a Potential Suicide". A precursor to the other "Notes"? Not sure----chronologically retarded.... |
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oh my. |
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Actually Im pretty sure he'd love a pounding, into submission. He is practically asking for it. I have some suggestions on how to succesfully wrangle a boy...without using the typical instruments of submission. i think nate's is waiting for the catholic girl to shed her skin. |
I have a brother. I know all about using one's bare hands for wrangling and wrestling and beating and strangling. I'd like to be on the giving end for a change. |
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come on, your perceived innocence begs for ALL of this. |
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and of course you don't beg for it. Ive never thought you to be a coy individual. I don't understand, I've tried, but you have never really divulged much to help me understand. Its ok, you don't have to explain or justify anything at all. |
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Oof, I been tired. "Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame" -- that might be the name of the collection that my mystery poem is in. It has an orange cover, I remember. |
But only on alternate Thursdays. |
"Beaver"? "Fetidbeaver"? |
O tempora! O mores! I get these girly magazines in the mail because I'm writing short stories for them again and here in these pages are these ladies exposing their jewel boxes - it looks more like a gynecologist's journal - everything boldly and clinically exposed beneath bland and bored physiognomies. it's a turn-off of gigantic proportions: the secret is in the imagination - take that away and you have dead meat. a century back a man could be driven mad by a well-turned ankle, and why not? one could imagine that the rest would be magical indeed! now they shove it at us like a McDonald's hamburger on a platter. there is hardly anything as beautiful as a woman in a long dress not even the sunrise not even the geese flying south in the long V formation in the bright freshness of early morning. |
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