Roll like many sided dice or roulette balls

May 6, 2017

6th May

Morning: gradually easing into sentience; emerging from my all too familiar Ligottiesk like nightmares, a nihilistic bug escaping from the pages of some forbidden grimoire. In the next room the girls sleep on, labyrinthine mazes of flesh and blood, both set going by simple acts of love. Dreaming, perhaps, of diamond dust or brick forests? Or vases of dead flowers? Farewell flowers, possibly? Who knows? Who can say?

I desperately need coffee.

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Pornography is a male invention, and is mostly misogynist by nature. Women submit to the urgencies of a stiff penis and the stringencies of ritualized erotic performance. A quick search of the internet will expose film and photographs of millions of women, both amateur and professional, in poses that would bring a blush to the cheeks of the most seasoned gynecologist. Here female bodies are stripped, bent over, spread apart, twisted. Labia wear clothespegs or are pieced. Breasts are tightly tied to swell to an abnormal size and colour. Nipples are pinched by clamps. Buttocks gape wide. Wannabe virgins metamorphose into groveling, cum dribbling nymphomaniacs. Lesbians eat pussy with the rapaciousness of half-starved cannibals. Cocks pump powerfully into cunt, mouth or arse, spurt streams of thick cum over upturned, rapturous female faces. This subjugation and denigration of women is there to enable assorted males to wank off while viewing the women’s contorted and tormented bodies. These impossible, sadomasochistic scenarios exist to excite and appease male masturbatory lust. That, and nothing more.

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Girls skipping in the street. Such an early memory, this one. Sunlight in their hair, glowing on their skinny legs, as they skip to a chanted rhyme:

“Teacher! Teacher!
I declare!
I can see your underwear!
Is it black or is it white?
Oh my God it’s dynamite!”

Such sure-footed girls. Where are they now? What’s become of them? Such beautiful, sunkissed, skipping girls. Wonder what finally tripped them up?

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