"Let's take a body count shall we?" Sept 2006

In a dank room the reeked of bodies in lust, billowed smoke from all angles and spiraled in toward the center rising upward in a foreboding funnel of human disillusion. He sat like a store front mannequin his hat teetering suspiciously low on his brow, shading the rage in his eyes from passers by. As he spun his glass on the sticky and damp black formica, he began to weep. It began silently, and discreetly slowly though it turned into a light sob. Passing finally into a torrent of vocal distress. When it hit him that yes, he was standing in a foreign cat house hollering freely without thought of social consideration. He turned flush, snatched up his glass and poured the remaining three-quarters of a double whiskey down his throat. With eyes cast down so as not to see the glares from the men disrupted from their lap dances and women afraid of something worse. He treaded quickly and lightly to the door of  La Maison deLux, so lightly that to him it seemed he was floating through the bar unnoticed. By the time he had reached the door the patrons had changed their focus back to the women who's breasts were on parade. Leonard glanced back once before exiting, and in the brief moment as he opened the door his eyes met with the petite brunette who was swaying to a fro beckoning him back inside with her siren's gaze. Her hair was long, with soft Spanish waves, and it cascaded around her face and frame whispering to him; "Come, wrap your tired face and hands in me. I will soothe you and set you ablaze!". She looked at him intensely never changing focus for what seemed like centuries. She began to quake and convulse out of time with the slow sleazy jazz the hung throughout the room. Soon she was shaking at a violent speed, he could hear her phantom voice repeat, "set you ablaze!, set you ablaze!!" Like a ray from God's own eyes, out of her abdomen shot a glowing red beam that violated Leonard between the eyes instantly turning him to ash.
        He woke suddenly, his pajamas drenched with sweat, his heart pounding in a way that shook him from fingertips to feet. "they seem to be getting worse".

Fool me once...Shame on you.

He placed her as narcissus on futon
a slithering sexpot coated in vowels
moaned sonnets into her
infused songs of love and lust into her hair
she dreamt of him for hours
after turkish cigarette smoke soothed her aching arms and hips from holding on like lichen to his frame
he fed her promisses unfulfilled intravenously
left her sorry form bleeding out desire
 for his worldly words and flashy eyes that sell doughnuts in dreamtown
she reaches out for him sometimes
although she will never own this somnambulist love affair
she thinks he can silence the raging cacophony inside, she sighs:
In dreams, I walk with you
In dreams, I talk to you.
In dreams you're mine, for all time.
Together, in dreams, in dreams...

"Dirty" from the far reaches of 2007

Closely you watch this episode play out

Play out

Played out'

Put your finger on the spot that burns.

Like endless dreams of eyes that watch

This episode play out, play out

Played out

Fuck it eat it make it raw view the viscera pulse and sway.

It is now part of the game.  

Your palms sweat out the time in aeons

Lost on voyages never begun

An apostle of religions long forgotten

HE stands naked

No longer do the chimes ring out his glory.

The flowers of his grave have withered and are lost among the sulfur rain.

A sigh heard around the globe awakens you from this

Episode. Played out, played out.

Long winded solstices will heave the

Man-child out of his cave.

Waffled skin sears the covers,

We are adhered to each other.

Adhesives like addiction,

Are the ties that bind her to rusty bedposts.

Longing is the word of the week for this lost angel whore.

A face that windchimes would silence themselves for in a hurricane

He hesitates once before penetrating

The shroud of Christ she wears.

Stained with the jizzum of the ages.

A modern Magdalena, the harlot of god.

She bends over,

Back arched,

Ass to sky,

And awaits her sodomic reward.

Tears and cum flood her, enough to make the miscreants bed

Into a saltwater bath

Textured thickly.

Hell bent, and heaven revolted when her hands

Tore out the continents from the satin prison which folded underneath our writhing heroine.

Fulfilled with punishment,

Her face turns up to the light.

Pink puffed cheeks and dampened pleading brow greet his.

A Martyr? Maybe.

If there were nothing good left.

In lieu of repentance she attacks

Postured like a seething marmoset

Closer to the edge of non existence.

Her name is irrelevant,

The time is irrelevant.

A biohazard on weak limbs she stands naked.

Reborn...

However long I stay away, I can't forget you Bloggie.

Today in the life of the Feeble Mumbler...
A dream about going to college with Jeff Goldblum where he left me for a younger and more vivacious woman.

I mean, who could blame him? Or her for that matter?