so scared of living

February 5, 2016

Reynold_Brown_Phantom_of_the_opera

I thought that if I owned nothing, had nothing, was nothing, I would have nothing left to lose, and I wouldn’t be scared anymore. Because my whole life I’ve been so damn scared. Scared to live because I was scared to die. But at the same I was so scared of living, so I wanted to die. Or maybe so scared of dying that I refused to live. You don’t have to be afraid to fall, when you’re already on the ground. You don’t have to be scared to lose someone, when there’s no one around to lose.

Charlotte Eriksson
Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps

Politics…

February 5, 2016

RingBilledGullsFoodFight

Watching people argue politics puts me in mind of gulls fighting over dead fish. It’s ugly, and it makes me glad I have better table manners.

Caitlín R. Kiernan
Dear Sweet Filthy World

In my element

February 5, 2016

lookingin

You can’t weigh me with feathers or books.
You can’t count me with clocks.
I am light as a thousand candles.
I am thin as a spy in the house of desire.
I am wide and spacious as a very large room
with nothing in it; invisible as a secret.
I change with the weather, play the dominoes
of night and day. What I have to say
is silence. I listen to the birds singing,
watch the polka of their wings. My hair
is the colour of the wind when it’s not there.
I am a chemistry lesson about what happens
to fire when I breathe in. My hands will touch you
like a whisper you can’t quite catch. You’ll fall
through me and notice how very small the world is,
how fresh I am, how much you’d miss me if I went away.

Linda France

Living in Sin

February 5, 2016

kissing in the moonlight

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman’s tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night’s cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own –
envoy from some village in the moldings . . .
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.

Adrienne Rich

Required to do wrong…

February 5, 2016

dead-island-XianMei

You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so. It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation; this is the curse at work, the curse that feeds on all life. Everywhere in the universe.

Phillip K. Dick
Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep

island

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises, Sounds,
and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.

W Shakespeare
The Tempest

Destruction…

February 5, 2016

Destruction

Destruction is only another aspect of being.

Angela Carter
The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman

In the land of Yagg…

February 5, 2016

yagas

‘They told me of the Yagas…in the grim city of Yugga, on the rock Yuthla, by the river Yogh, in the land of Yagg…their ruler was a black queen named Yasmeena …’

Robert E. Howard
Almuric
Weird Tales 1939

Here we go again…

February 5, 2016

Frightening-FridayFoggyNightFrightening friday_house2

And what's in your closet? The House on Haunted Hill

And what’s in your closet?
The House on Haunted Hill

Frightening Friday_cat

And a little off the top - Maniac

And a little off the top – Maniac

Mirror Queen from The Brother's Grimm

Mirror Queen from The Brother’s Grimm

UntanglingTuesday_ 2

Three in the playroom this evening. She always calls it her “rumpus room”. ‘Let’s have a rumpus’, she says, thinking back perhaps to those evenings when she read “Where the Wild Things Are” to her now grown-up daughters.

A rumpus…

A little earlier she’d explained her immediate needs to us, her voice low and calm and very matter-of-fact… almost as if she were reciting a recipe to a friend:

‘I need to be tied to the bed…Gagged…Blindfolded…With that big vibrator in my cunt, but set on the lowest setting. It should just buzz gently away in there. You need to leave me like that for an hour or so – just return now and then to torture my tits. You know how sensitive they are – especially my nipples. You can give them hell. But don’t let me cum. You know? Not until I beg for it. Then you can make me suck your cocks off first, if you like. Or arse fuck me, whatever you both want. When you’ve used me, then you can force me to cum…’

Her husband went for a cigarette once she was tied down. She writhed as I inserted the vibe, as if beset by minor demons. Her eyes became big, wild-looking. I shoved the vibrator up as far as it would go, and positioned her thong to hold it in place.

Later we took turns with her tits, pinching, squeezing, slapping them. Finally we fastened pegs to her erect nipples and left her there. Her red lipstick was badly smeared by our rough kisses and the ball gag her husband had forced into her mouth.

Eventually hubby could hold back no longer. ‘I want her now,’ he said to me. We were sitting in the lounge watching TV and drinking malt whiskey. I followed him to the “rumpus room”.

The three us became like disheveled caricatures of people in there. Easily we could be mistaken for the grumpy bunch of beasties from Maurice Sendak’s book. Her naked husband, tugging down the now soaking thong, cock in the perpendicular (and very angry-looking to my eyes), rolling her on her belly and jamming it between her buttocks.

He calls her names, Bitch, Whore, Slut as he thrusts.

She makes unintelligible sounds around the ballgag. I can see the glistening wetness that has been leaking out of her over the vibe for the past three-quarters-of-an-hour; there’s also a wet patch, almost hip wide, across the sheets.

Hubby thrust harder, one hand pressing her face into the pillow, the other on her shoulder. The muscles in the back of his legs suddenly tense, became ridged. He cums in spasmodic jerks of his whole body, almost like he’s fitting, with his cock balls deep in her arse.

I removed her gag and told her to suck me. She did so without hesitation. She slobbered greedily on cock. I grabbed the back of her head involuntarily when I ejaculated…

She lay spread-eagled while we messed with her pussy. Fingering, stroking…gently kissing it. Then I turned the vibe to max and replaced it against her trembling cunt. She whimpered, cried out…

‘Whore,’ hubby yelled at her. ‘Push your dirty quim up. Push it up…’

Her body began to twitch and jerk. Her face screwed up, lips pulling back from even white teeth. ‘Oh, God,’ she hissed. Then she was finally cumming…

Hubby forced two fingers in her arse as she bucked and moaned. ‘We’ve only just begun. We’re going to jam both our pricks in your arsehole. Both together. You understand me, Bitch.’ Even as he spoke he pushed more fingers into her…

And there, boys and girls, a curtain must descend, for decency’s sake if nothing else. Our remaining excesses, soft-fade into the darkness…

Like puppets on a stage, or figures from the Commedia dell’arte, we each continued our improvised performances: my Pulcinella sweating and thrusting eagerly into this “tumbling whore”. While her hubby, Pierrot, used his meaty cock as a dagger, stabbing it roughly into his Pierrette without mercy.

And she, the centre of our acrobatic feats, our greedy wrestling bout, climaxed six more times on that tiny stage…