it’s kinda boring here … i dunno … i like some of the features here, but … blah … you know? so … time for a change …

so … its off to livejournal … its kind kewl there … and of course … i am now a ‘die-hard’ deviant … and i have a fully-functional journal there … so, eventually i won’t really need this place or any of the blogger blogs … i will just have the livejournal and deviantART spaces …

come visit me … see ya around …

oh, yeah … the new handle is ‘madmalvablue’ … just for something different …

not much in the mood for writing, of late …

find me here … feeling kinda artistic of late …

i’ll be back in a few days …

tootles for now …

p-tosh with reality … it really does bore me …

i have not been deligent with my blogging duties because if my newest addiction: deviantART … posted part 3 of mona lisa man on my story blog over the wken … and a few new poems on the poetry blog … oh, the photo blog gets updated daily (except i think i missed yesterday …) well … that’s it … 4 now

forget for a moment the fact that the response of the world of ‘islam’ seems in keeping with the portrayal in the cartoons … (? they’re setting buildings and flags on fire, and threatening to kills people … come on, can someone say ‘moderation’ …?) … was it really necessary to print and re-print those cartoons …? did the world gain anything by this …? hmmmph … i don’t think so …

re: templates: for those of you readers who are blogger users …

there are lots of places you can get templates – if you do a search in google, you’ll find them …

just keep in mind that in many cases you have no way of knowing if copyright law is being violated by use of images used to make the templates … if that matters to you, that is … if not, well … …

if you visit templates by caz, you will find lots of templates containing images that have not been ‘ripped’ …

once you find the template you like and download it … then what?

then, you open the template’s *.txt file (you can do this in your browser – open a new window and then go to ‘open file’ in the ‘file’ menu), and cut and paste …

you erase all the template code in your blogger template window (be sure to save your links and other side-bar text) and then replace it with the new text from the new template you just downloaded …

then all that’s left for you to do is customize – put your links back in, etc … and … voila … a fancy new template … …

hope this helps … it really is that easy …!

1. my photo blog – a different photo each day, some mine, some stock or creative commons photos
2. my stories – my very own fiction
3. my poetry – my poems, in one blog
4. wurdz i collect – phrases, quotes, clever quips, the wurdz of others
5. my diary – self explanatory

a word about the template changes … just wanted to tell you why i had to change those awesome templates – the forest girl and then the fairy. after setting up the blogs, i did a little research on the artist: enayla (real name: linda bergkvist) … i did find her website, and there she had a very detailed explanation of her ‘rulz of use’ for her art …

judging from her ‘rulz’ the templates i had downloaded from blogskins were created by pirating enayla’s work … i am big on intellectual property rights, etc. and so, i could not, in good conscience, use those blog templates, despite their beauty. so, now i have new templates, (templates that are not created by artwork ripped off from their artists!) and now you all know why …

oh, dear …. the war rages on … war of religions … war of words … ideas … beliefs … ho hum … i see both sides of the story … watched Condaleeza tell the world about the big bad Hamas government … gawd please spare me, dearie … does she HONESTLY think that she or any other western politicians are going to accomplish what has not been accomplished in thousands of years ….

that piece of land i like to think of as palestine will remain the source of wars, terrorism, etc for generations to come … ALL THREE SIDES ARE AT FAULT HERE … (the USA being the third side … can’t seem to stop sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong …ackkk) … how can Condaleeza sit up their telling the world they will not recognize a gov’t that supports terrorism? what a fucking double standard bull shit that is! they are certainly the running for such a distinction -gov’t that supports terror … and that wall … apparently no one was listening when reagan said about the berlin wall ‘tear down this wall …’ … so it’s okay for the livelihoods of palestinians to be destroyed for some fucking jewish bullshit wall? uh fuck … this is exactly why i choose NOT to watch the news … unfortunately today it was inflicted upon me …grrrr …

well. got that out. we all know we’re not gonna solve anything … but there. its said. now – violence … yes … this is not an insult … Islam is a very violent culture … when my husband lived in africa (his dad worked for the UN and was stationed there) he and his (swiss) parents lived in a flat above an arab family … one evening they heard some absolutely horrific screaming … the most awful sounds … coming from that flat … the next day when ‘dad’ asked about these noises … this is what the neighbour told him …”the rabbit only started screaming when i stepped on his head to slit his throat!’ … and, folks, that is a true story, and the said thing is … the guy who stepped on the rabbit’s head thought this was terribily funny … obviously the swiss family did not!
that story conjures up an image in my head … and that is the image i have when i hear hamas and their declarations of killing, destruction and war … i really wonder where this leaves the mideast process … nowhere … at an impass … with one side wanting a two-country solution (the side that doesn’t live in the mideast, of course), and two other sides wanting a one-country solution …

i’m really hoping that one day soon cooler heads will prevail and someone will stop and ask, ‘wait …why did those people elect a hamas government? what message does that send us?’ but … i’m not holding my breath …

Technorati Tags: rants, mideast, palestine, usa, hamas, islam

here are a few things u should know:

1. at an intersection, the stopping point is not only before the intersection, but also BEFORE the pedestrian crosswalk, not in the middle of or after the crosswalk – us pedestrians r not 2 keen on walking behind your car and sucking in all those nice exhaust fumes!!!

2. vehicles are equipped with signal lights because we are ALL supposed to be using them to signal lane changes and turns – ALL the time, not just when the fancy strikes us!!

3. the passing lane is just that, a lane for passing . . . it is not a lane u plant yourself in if you are driving all the way to timbucktou – for heavens sake, keep your sorry piece of motorized metal to the right, so others can pass if they want 2!!

4. if u can’t follow these guidelines, then for heaven’s sake take the bus or support your local cabbie . . .STAY OFF THE ROAD!!!

Technorati Tags: rants, driving, canadian, silly

it said about me …

“You are elegant, withdrawn, and brilliant.
Your mind is a weapon, able to solve any puzzle.
You are also great at poking holes in arguments and common beliefs.
For you, comfort and calm are very important.
You tend to thrive on your own and shrug off most affection.
You prefer to protect your emotions and stay strong.”

… that’s pretty accurate … 8)

Technorati Tags: personality-test, blogging, cool-things

Technorati Tags: blogging-resources, lists, cool

Technorati Tags: blogging, traffic, ghost-town, village, lurkers

Technorati Tags: poetry, forest, wind, whispers, graffitti

You thank me all the time
but now it’s my turn
cause truly a word of gratitude so due
can’t go unheard
and it made me feel better
to have you there in my corner
my eyes cast so low
my face could not have been
drawn longer

I know you’ve been impressed
you’ve seen me at my best
but oh, how it hurts
when I can’t hide my worst
well thank-you for carrying on
for playing with me and this song
it made me feel better
we sat it out like some passing bad weather

My mind was like kid’s boxing gloves
the kind blown up with air
that are put away after play
and get limp just lying there
but you knew they’d fill up again
and you gave me your shoulder
and I got up in the ring
because I had you there
in my corner
and I got up in the ring
because I had you there In my corner

lyrics written by sarah harmer

Technorati Tags: sarah-harmer, folk-music, ring, life, thanx

1. take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk
2. when you lose, don’t lose the lesson
3. follow the three r’s: respect for self, respect for others and responsibility for all your actions
4. remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck
5. learn the rules so you know how to break them properly
6. don’t let a little dispute injure a great friendship
7. when you realize you’ve made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it
8. spend some time alone every day
9. open arms to change, but don’t let go of your values
10. remember that silence is sometimes the best answer
11. live a good, honourable life then, when you get older and think back, you’ll be able to enjoy it a scond time
12. a loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life
13. in disagreement with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. don’t bring up the past
14. share your knowledge. its a way to achieve immortality
15. be gentle with the earth
16. once a year go someplace you’ve never been before

Technorati Tags: dalai-lama, life, wisdom, instructions

“US officer guilty of iraqi death”(BBC)

“President Bush has said his goal is to end tyranny in the world” (BBC)

“Iraqi security officials have discovered the bodies of 23 police volunteers kidnapped last Monday”(BBC)

Technorati Tags: war-on-terror, middle-east, dubya, headlines

Technorati Tags: alzheimer’s, family, sad, dementia,

my mona lisa man stood near the door inside the small terminal building. a single shoulder bag sat on the floor, at his feet. he wore a blue jacket over his crisp white shirt … 4-bar epaulets and pilot’s wings glowed in the streaming midday sun. my heart sat in my throat like a stone, skipping a beat when we touched in an embrace. his lips gently brushed my cheek … the hush of his breath in my hair … a flash of goosebumps – mine … and his hands traced the curves of my body, like they had visited these places before.

his touch stirred in me a deep, desperate longing … longing that lurks in the dark recesses of a shattered heart. a longing i thought i could deny, when i thought i’d never see my mona lisa man again. now … this longing haunted me … a restless ghost, enticing me … beckoning me … teasing me. his voice – exotic, european – enveloped me like warm, rich chocolate … creamy, sweet, smooth … so tantalizing, leaving me thirst for more … more … and … more … my mouth felt hot and dry and desire burned in my lips …

we three rode through the small mediterranean town, to his lonely, highrise apartment … we talked about regret, estrangement, and the dark despair of grieving. he spoke tenderly of his wife’s death from cancer three months ago, his self-imposed estrangement from his family during her final days and disownment by his son and daughter for failing to witness his wife draw her last breath.

my husband remained silent, the kind of silent that comes from feeling choked, as i solemnly recounted the details of our youngest son’s untimely demise … the words tumbled from my lips, sailing on a stream of regret, longing and cavernous loneliness as i recalled a loss that could only be described as ‘plucked away’ … as in a large, bright and deeply-rooted feather deliberately plucked from a bird’s plumage …

i did not speak of my husband’s inability and unwillingness to conceive of parenting anything ever again, his oppressive despair at this crushing blow, or the bitter taste of what-could’ve-been that resided in his kisses and lingered on his tongue … all of these things lurked in the lines and angles of his face and lived in the undulations of his voice. i did not speak of the oppresive sorrow … grief over the loss of our youngest son … that extinguished the passion which once fired our marriage. or the desperate emptiness i felt as i wallowed in its charred remains …

i think these resided in our tentative physical contact: the way each flinched reflexively when touched by the other, as though stung. i contemplated all these things i failed to speak of, as we silently disembarked the taxi and waited for the lift … in these moments, grief settled upon us all like flour settles on damp skin …

tension lived in all the silent moments that followed … heavy … weighty … oppressive. i pondered silently now that i understood the intimate familiarity, the enchantment, the captivation … the magnetism of the connection i had forged in that utility closet with my mona lisa man.

… to be continued …

Technorati Tags: stories, affair, lovers, desire

the tangy, piquish aroma of Brut. he wore a fresh, crisp uniform, complete with 4-bar epaulets and silver wings… a pilot … a tall, brooding character with a luscious head of silver-splattered, dark curls and intensely glacial green eyes, he flashed me a mona lisa smile. i savoured it like velvety brandy. i stood facing him… motionless … holding my breath … and reached into the depths of his honey-flecked green irises with my own gaze…

so close … close enough to smell, touch … taste him. yet, so much of him remained hidden from my view, lurking amid the soft shadows of the curves in his face. his expression eluded me. a, vague, mysterious, yet strangely … intimately … familiar aura oozed from his pores … captivating … enchanting … i found myself breathless. my heart galloped … desire sat, like a stone, in my throat …

silence … soothing … unobtrusive … we, each unable, or unwilling, to utter a single sound. his touch, filled with warmth and gentle certitude, sent a shiver down my spine and made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. our breathing … in unison now. i interlock the fingers of my cold, alabaster hand with his long, sinewy fingers. we walk through the nearest door …

utility closet: i, back against the cold steel door, swept into his torrential intensity … bound, by some hynotic, familiar force. he, gently gliding his fingertips along my bare arms, following each curve, each undulation … painting his touch onto my skin. he fingered the diamond on my wedding set, then bending slightly, kissed my hand. he closed his eyes as his lips brushed against the back of my hand and his warm, gentle breath soaked into my skin. a sigh – his – of tender longing, as i touch his cheek tentatively with my fingertips.

the hush of his breath through my hair sent tingles surging through my body as he scattered tiny kisses along my throat. silent … breathing in unison … spellbound … peeling away layers of clothing, revealing delicate, ripe flesh. pulsing … throbbing flesh. pressed against each other now – skin against skin. i could feel his heart beating, as if in search of mine.

skin against skin … surge … electrifying … i, a vessel, feel him inside me … throbbing, engorged … he fills my cavern with his sweet, milky essence. i, holding my breath, waiting to exhale … rapture … along with the slow, soft trickle of infinitesmal beadlets of sweat. panting … breathless … silent …

we carefully pieced ourselves back together, layer upon layer. silence remained. a thick, hot passion lingered, an after-effect of our brief, but intensely intimate fusion. we stood, studying each other, in suspended animation. i tried to memorize each line, each curve, each shadow of his face … to keep an etching of him in my soul. we parted with a kiss.

pangs of guilt soaked into me, like a slow, steady rain, as i sat in my plane seat, reading a piece in some daily british rag about John Major’s extramarital affair. the irony did not escape me. reality settled upon me like a thick, soupy fog. guilt … corroding my consciousness … guilt … i felt as though each beat of my heart told the tale … though my husband seemed blissfully ignorant … and … why shouldn’t he be, i told myself.

i sensed the rise of quiet contemplation and controlled anticipation in my husband as he fingered the outline of his Camel pack through his shirt pocket. i could see the wheels turning – he pondered seeing his brother for the first time in a decade. i could feel the anticipation bubbling … foaming … frothing … as the plane began its descent toward our quaint, mediterranean destination …

butterflies … panic … swept into a throng of human cargo, pressed into the aisle of the small plane and down its steep, narrow steps … nervous …pit of my stomach … wild anticipation … we make our way across the tarmac and into the tiny, two-storey terminal building. customs … luggage claim … frenzied excitement clings to me … stifling me … the guilt, it falls away …

in the moment i cast my gaze downward to flick my wild mane over my shoulder, i heard the rustle of an embrace as the two brothers pecked each other on the cheek. still looking at the speckled floor, i felt it again … intoxicating, intense … but … how …? nothing could prepare me for what i saw when i cast my eyes on my brother-in-law: the intense, glacial green eyes … and … that smile … elusive … vague … my mona lisa man …

to be continued …

Technorati Tags: passion, extramarital, lovers, pilot, mona-lisa-smile

Technorati Tags: pysche, poetry, static, perceptual

the winds of change
stirring … profoundly …
galvanizing … i am
a thought and feeling salad -
so many ingredient
thoughts and feelings tossed together,
their flavours fused into on another . . .
paralyzing motion

Technorati Tags: poetry, restless, torrent

through the holes in the fence slats, she watched a bent and shadowy figure hobble along the back lane. its feet scraped along, never leaving the ground. pity descended upon her like a misty rain when she contemplated such a cold, shadowy existence. she closed her eyes, inhaling long and deep … when she opened her eyes …

an utterly flawless and beautiful figure moving toward her with liquid motion. his spearmint-flavoured breath and his sweet earthy scent bewitched her. facing this creature, she squinted, as if to see into the depths of his bright eyes. a warm electrifying sensation surged through her body. in the depth of his eyes, she witness everything.

scenes and images flashed in her mind’s eye that no words could describe. she saw colours that have no description, places that don’t exist. a din of voices … an infinite collective of word and song … spinning into a whirring cacophony …. flooding her acoustic receptors. beautiful … at first … then … painful. frightened, she covered her ears and shut her eyes. the simple act of shutting her eyes transformed the surreal cacophony into familiar, earthly silence.

she watched, awestruck, as dawn spread her wings in the eastern sky.

Technorati Tags: stories, angel, encounter, shapeshifter

when i walked into hmv this afternoon, this song played on the overhead speakers … i really walked into the store kind of restless … undecided … wanting … a different taste … i even had confessions on a dance floor in my hands … and then … i put it back on the shelf … what a cool ripple in my time-space to come across such neat, fun, funky music …

Technorati Tags: music, alternative, funky, choice

do you ever wonder why the evolutionists and scientists don’t burn with desire to ‘convert’ the ‘non-believers’ …. ? i mean, they don’t believe that Moses parted the Red Sea … that some omnipotent entity sits up in heaven, playing his little chess game, with US as the game pieces, mind-fucking us … like … mind-fuck after mind-fuck …? they do have access to the mounds and mounds of scientific evidence (science=’makes sense’) in favour of evolution, the big-bang theory … so …

mind-boggling, isn’t it? how thousands and thousands of people AROUND the world just don’t see the science written on the proverbial wall, huh? well, you certainly think this of you’re among the science-thinking type, i guess … but not if you exist under the ‘god’ delusion … yet, those who see the ‘truth and the light’ (science=truth … and where there’s truth there’s light) do not seek to convert the less enlightened creationists … go figure …

well … it’s not really THAT mind-boggling, when you consider that one cannot ever hope to ‘convert’ a creationist, given the strong ritualistic facet of religions … a belief wrapped in rituals … beliefs … they don’t need to make sense, do they? rituals … we cling to our rituals … seek solace in them, shelter in them, peace in them, envelope ourselves in them … to the point of fanatacism and even self-harm/death (think: suicide bombers, pilgrims to mecca). that’s religion, folks … and the religious types exist inside the walls their rituals have erected …

beliefs … rituals … self-harm … hmmmmm …. doesn’t …. that …. sound …. like …. like … addiction? yes …. yes … i think so …. it does, doesn’t it? so … all these people out there kling to religion … god – because it’s their DRUG of CHOICE. That’s right … religion as a drug.

so … think about the ridiculous ‘war on drugs’ … do you think that preaching to ‘convert’ disfunctional/deviant drugs addicts based on science and common sense will really have the effect of getting addicts to give up their DRUG of CHOICE? of course not … drug use, it’s couched in ritual … belief … maybe even superstition … remember, rituals comfort, shelter, soothe … we need rituals to exist in our daily lives …

so … i wonder … why is addiction to some things in life okay … but not others …. who gets to decide what’s okay and what’s not ….? and when will the DEA-minded folks realize the war on drugs has the same effect on existence as does the intifada?

Technorati Tags: addiction, religion, drug, policy, war, ritual

v-i-o-l-e-n-t. that’s how i categorize this story in my head. no weapons of any kind. no alteractions. no gunshot. no stabbing. merely violent death by cancer. what else do you call it when the paramedic is ‘bagging’ the guy (i.e. using a bag-valve-mask to artificially respirate the patient) and coffee ground, bloody and shit-scented vomit shoots out of the one-way valve. we were trying to breath for this patient and all we ended up doing is ‘pumping’ the fluid out of his lungs. he died before we could every displace all that bloody, shit-vomit from his lungs with good ole oxygen.

he died with no loved ones in his midst. with no one holding his hand. alone. with two nurses and two paramedics farting into thunder, trying save his life. the doctor, comfortably sleeping in his small town bed when i called to inform him of his patient’s sudden demise, snorted at the thought of leaving his nice warm bed to carry out his duty to his patient. and all he could say, when he did finally arrive to sign the death certificate, etc. etc., is stupidly remark how i should have taken my gloves off before entering the nursing station …

i recall the thick, sickly thud of the vomit hitting the tv cabinet beside the bed as it rapidly shot out of the one-way valve. i recall the gutteral wretching sound, orginating from the depths of his gut, and the force of the projectile vomit as it shot out of his mouth like a high-powered missile. i recall the frantic desperation that descended on all of us in the room as we saw this patient slipping away, toward death.

i recall the lightening speed with which we erased all traces of the truth from the room – the tell tale linen, the resuscitation equipment, the splattering on the cabinet, floor and the patient himself. it haunts me. haunt. haunt. i did not know this patient. but i cried for him, we cried for him.

Technorati Tags: vomit, bleed, cancer, death, nurse

now, those crystal blue eyes remained distant, and barely opened. as we repositioned her, i could feel death approaching. she did not resist, did not even flinch when we touched her . . . just continued her very tentative breathing pattern. her ankles and feet took on a mottled hue and the scent of death lingered around her. it only took a hour, maybe less . . . her spirit chose to depart when alone in her room.

Her family arrived within minutes, to pay their last respects – children and grandchildren – they took turns at her bedside. as i stood with the family, gathered in the hall just outside her room, we heard the distinct cry of a newborn babe . . . one of the children spoke: “hey . . .listen . . .”

we all stood in hallowed silence, listening to the cry of new life … the year’s first at that facility … as we pondered the passing of an old life … also the year’s first …

that’s nature’s balance, i guess

Technorati Tags: death, birth, balance, story, nurse

Technorati Tags: death, spirit, corpse, mask, poetry

Technorati Tags: metaphysical, spiritual, souls, love, poetry

Technorati Tags: rage, fire, burn, death

deception…
lies…
control…
manipulatation.
i don’t know why i’m crying.
can’t stop …
can’t start.
why do some people deplete energy?
why does death rape and pillage.
why …?

Technorati Tags: poetry, void, soul, anguish

Technorati Tags: sadness, poetry, memory, time

he came to collect your belongings today
the man walked out with everything … you …
casually, like a bag of garbage

the door closes behind the man with the bag
leaving me imprisoned in my sorrow
an image of you, etched in my heart
elfin child – soft ivory skin, long chestnut lashes
intoxicating squeals of laughter

each day that passes
without you
the deeper and more palpable my loss becomes
my respirates
i do not feel alive

Technorati Tags: mother, child, grief, poetry

soft caresses … my soft caresses. when i touch my pink fleshy lips, wep and slippery sap coats my fingertips. i long to lick these wet lips and taste their sweet syrup. my own, sweet syrup. i can hear my heart pounding, like a bodhran … feel the engorgement of blood in my groin. waiting to exhale … then … a sweet sigh, followed by an quiet, orgasmic squeal. shit. that feeling. throbbing. behind my pubic bone. hmmph …

… prying my hot, we and sticky legs apart, i thrust them into the air, making a ballistic missle of my soggy bed linen. a moist, sharp thud punctuates the screaming silence at it hits the peanut butter colopured wood floor. i peel my soggy sleeveless undershirt away from my sternum, making a rustling sound as my mane passes thru it. and then … the sharp flicking sound of air displacement as i fling the soggy cotton mass across toward the soggy bed linen pile.

the sweetly sour odour of perspiration envelopes me. i reach thru the jungle of curly bamboo on the bedroom windowsill and throw open the window. i close my eyes and rush to the arms of the gentle salty morning breeze. from the towering treetops, a winged chorus chirps, warbles, chatters, clicks and tweets – it sounds like the tropical garden and birdhouse i used to visit at the zoo as a kid. i love to bathe in the golden ribbons of hazy sunshine that spills thru my windows in the morning.

i feel it. i try to deny it. alienate it. but … i feel it. that insatiable, wild, yearning grows within. it bubbles and churns at my core, corrosive, caustic. as it eats away i struggle in vain to plug the gaping hole it creates, but i cannot find the filler capable of filling the void. blood orange. for breakfast, i mean. appropriate, considering ‘the menses flowing out of me: heavy, thick, red …

crimson-coloured sections of citrus fruit enclosed in a firm, puckered and mottled rind. full bodied. crimson-tasting. carefully, i remove white, stringy coating from each section. i draw a section across my lips and then my mouth slowly draws it inside. the skin of the orange-meat feels taut and full, like a wrinkled water baloon. i nudge it gently, rolling the crescent-shaped section with my tongue. when i sink into the plump, ripe fruit, tinky jets of juice spray inside my mouth, the sound reminds me of the crunching sound of walking on snow. i grind the ripe, juicey meant to a fine pulp and it slides effortlessly down my throat.

the throbbing intensifies. sharp. pressure. cramping. squeezing my viscera into itself. i need a hot frying pan (hey, don’t knock it … it works better than midol and a hot water bottle …) and some serious drugs to remove that pounding sensation from my head. wild hunger fills me.

Technorati Tags: stories, menses, erotica, hunger

Technorati Tags: seagull, lover, haiku

a veil of mist sprayed me
like a fender at a car wash
as i ran thru
the steel blue sheets of water

Technorati Tags: dreams, whales, water, poetry

Technorati Tags: tide, ocean, haiku

Technorati Tags: desire, longing, haiku

Technorati Tags: poetry, childhood, autobiographical

Technorati Tags: poetry, childhood, autobiographical

Technorati Tags: urban, jungle, traffic, poetry

i can’t tell the difference between what my head says and what goes on around me. psycho, i’m fucking psycho again. my ears, they’re ringing with all the sounds of all those loud voices. running. shit. i gotta run. those people in the shadows, they’re trying to stabe me in the head.

‘ . . .drive a broom through your skull … rip out your entrails …” voices! no! those thoughts come from the voices. running. hands over ears. bent over. dodging them. running from them. slamming into walls. bouncing off the bright white walls. gnawing my fingers, exposing raw and putrid flesh and bone. raging. numbing. nothing.

panacea. syringe, loaded. who’s panacea? mine? not sure … i should run. but i have run enough. relief? demise?

Technorati Tags: psychosis, voices, poetry

The wild-eyed dream, ended

Technorati Tags: junky, death, addiction, drugs

Technorati Tags: spiritual, self-realization, poetry

Technorati Tags: forest, inferno, poetry

Technorati Tags: peach, defiled, poetry

Technorati Tags: rape, poetry, prey

Technorati Tags: blood, orange, eat, poetry

Technorati Tags: rain, poetry, blossom

lotus flower, poetry, erotic

“oh please,” he moaned desperately.

terror lit his eyes … pleading … begging. it all made her hungry for the kill. she bathed in his terror … his flesh had a salty rich flavour. his gutteral cries electrified her. he croaked weakly as she inflicted pain … then pleasure … that quickly grew into agony … with the deft movement of her hands, teeth and tongue. his body convulsed in pleasure then writhed in pain. moaning. pleading. begging. groaning. croaking. gutteral cries. a tempest of rage engulfed her … orgasmic in intensity.

she drew the blade into the soft, loose flesh of his neck. it felt like cutting into a boiled perogy. death lingered. she watched his sticky, crimson blood ooze lazily from his flesh. painful anticipation descended … like waiting for the ketchup to hit the food.

she sliced the carotid artery. it felt like slicing licorice. she grew deaf to all ambient noises, mesmerized by the thick, warm, red geyser spurting from his neck. the pulsing spray reminded her of rain. the sound of rain. she bathed in this gentle, diffuse sound … then … gurgling, the gentle babbling of a brook … and … a gutteral moan emanated from the body as its spirit departed. her rage – melted to nothing.

kill,rage,orgasm,stories

i manage to snack along the way, having, fortunately, encountered many succulent males to nourish me. their taste reminds me of eating sweet, ripened plump pears. think of it. a tough but leathery skin encapsulating swwet, ivory coloured pulp. a fine, grainy pulp. glistening with clear juice. subtle. tangy. and a lick of the lips as the taste buds yearn for another taste.

well … the mortal world has metamorphosed into quite an interesting mosaic of large sprawling urban desert and imploding lush green jungle, since my last fling here, a few hundred years ago. those smelly, irritating metal rodents … what do you call them … cars? those intrusively garish steel necks that litter a lovely skyline … cranes? those token geese hissing and spitting as they guard their tiny patch of downtown grass from passersby. the scalped slopes of once-forested mountains.

mortals have certainly grown. taller. heavier. more complacent. lazy. sad. they have become so vulnerable. so far removed from the core of their existence. like baby birds, floundering for the next taste. existing for consumption. rather that consuming for existence. this intrigues me, excites me. lustful hunger … i feed and grow stronger suckling the teet of desperate, lustful hunger. it hangs thickly in the air here … and fear … rapacious entities like yours truly, we smell fear you know. fear … my sweet opium … hunger and fear, these transform me into a restless, sexual vulture. an immortal sexual vulture in a corporeal body.

stories, succubus, demoness, forest, immortal

he feels a sudden chill as his small campfire intensifies into a ten-foot high flame. he sits like a stone as the chanting flames embrace him with an icey grip. long, smokey tendrils swirl around him, leaching through his pores like a vapour. a strangely arousing, warm sensation surges through his body … electrifying … he hungers for more. he gasps and heaves to catch his breath. his heart races like a high speed train. a hot, steamy lust brews within his groin … throbbing … a slimy, salty film of sweat coats his ruddy face now … cuming … he cries out breathlessly to the cavernous forest … but … instead of orgasmic relief, his groin throbs violently … intense … a crushing ache … like … a migraine in his groin. unrelenting pleasure becomes unrelenting pain. then … nothing … a dark, sleepy void. trapped … no escape … in a twilight. you know, the kind of twilight that renders you powerless to operate your own body?
heroin, story, firedemon, forest

poetry, rain

poetry,heron, shore

poetry,spiral,staircase