You smell of guitars
and orchards
You pour into
my thoughts like coffee with milk, but please,
stop calling me Don Quixote.
I’m more shallow
Than I seem.
You tell me that
I’ve not sold out but what you don’t
realise is That’s only because
no one offered to buy me. Given the chance
I would sell my soul and my body.
You are blind
and no one can see you. You smell of guitars
and the ocean of your sky burns
with star fish, You smell of mirrors,
sex and abracadabra.

Bill Lewis

about anal sex…

June 7, 2016


You want to know about anal sex? It’s like trying to have a poo backwards. Repeatedly. So not nice. Not nice at all…

True Confessions

put you in a box…

June 7, 2016


Oh great, you too. So now I wear this label ‘Queer’ emblazoned across my chest. Or I could always carve a scarlet ‘L’ on my forehead. Why does everyone have to put you in a box and nail the lid on it? I don’t know what I am—polymorphous and perverse. Shit. I don’t even know if I’m white. I’m me. That’s all I am and all I want to be. Do I have to be something?

Rita Mae Brown
Rubyfruit Jungle

the erotic…

June 7, 2016


The erotic has often been misnamed by men and used against women. It has been made into the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, the plasticized sensation. For this reason, we have often turned away from the exploration and consideration of the erotic as a source of power and information, confusing it with its opposite, the pornographic. But pornography is a direct denial of the power of the erotic, for it represents the suppression of true feeling. Pornography emphasizes sensation without feeling.

The erotic is a measure between the beginnings of our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings. It is an internal sense of satisfaction to which, once we have experienced it, we know we can aspire.

Audre Lorde
Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power

talking together…

June 7, 2016

Geoffrey Johnson

People strike sparks off each other; that is what I try to note down. But mark well, they only do this when they are talking together. After all, we don’t write letters now, we telephone. And one of these days we are going to have TV sets which lonely people can talk to and get answers back. Then no one will read anymore.

Henry Green
Interview published in the Paris Review, summer 1958.

my coffee cup

June 7, 2016


I took my coffee into the dining room and settled down with the morning paper. A woman in New York had had twins in a taxi. A woman in Ohio had just had her seventeenth child. A twelve-year-old girl in Mexico had given birth to a thirteen-pound boy. The lead article on the woman’s page was about how to adjust the older child to the new baby. I finally found an account of an axe murder on page seventeen, and held my coffee cup up to my face to see if the steam might revive me.

Shirley Jackson
Life Among the Savages