the waft of smoke

June 27, 2017

Cunnilingus is not a three-minute twerking fad, here today junked tomorrow. It is Tchaikovsky. An overture. An operatic experience that makes you high, then takes you higher. Orgasm is the waft of smoke seen at the top of the volcano. As we know, the journey is pure pleasure, the arrival like the Big Bang that created the universe.

Chloe Thurlow
Katie in Love

I dreamed

June 27, 2017

I dreamed I spoke in another’s language,
I dreamed I lived in another’s skin,
I dreamed I was my own beloved,
I dreamed I was a tiger’s kin.

I dreamed that Eden lived inside me,
And when I breathed a garden came,
I dreamed I knew all of Creation,
I dreamed I knew the Creator’s name.

I dreamed- and this dream was the finest –
That all I dreamed was real and true,
And we would live in joy forever,
You in me, and me in you.

Clive Barker
Days of Magic, Nights of War

falling in love

June 27, 2017

i tremble at the thought of
falling in love with a
tiny part of someone
and mistaking it
for the whole

Rupi Kaur
From Milk and Honey

You felt familiar the moment I met you. A lovely sort of déjà vu. When we spoke or laughed or danced I became overwhelmed by the powerful sensation that I had been here before. And when we kissed I felt the energies of a thousand lives on our lips, like our souls had known each other all along.

Beau Taplin
Déjà vu

Scene from a life

June 27, 2017

27th June

Mid your step in here, boys and girls. You’ll need a guide within my phantasmagorical world if you are not to become lost in the labyrinth.

You have been warned.

Bloomsday. The first mention of its celebration was in a letter from James Joyce to Miss Weaver of 27 June 1924: “There is a group of people who observe what they call Bloom’s day – 16 June.”

It is of course the day on which Ulysses opens, and one I have celebrated since my sixteenth birthday in Paris. It is an excuse to get shit-faced in a delightfully old-fashioned kind of way. Did you know that Ted Hughes married Sylvia Plath on 16th June 1956 in honour of Bloomsday? The day was named for Leopold Bloom, a dapper character from the book. Robert Nicholson once said, ‘Bloomsday has as much to do with Joyce as Christmas has to do with Jesus.’ And its celebration, in my book, is a chaotic and raucous affair –

This year me and mine celebrated the day with Irish whiskey and pints of Guinness, while reciting odd passages from Ulysses. Because of Joyce’s letter of 27th June acknowledging Bloomsday, we’ve decided to have a second celebration to commemorate that great event today.


Sorting and divvying family photos,
my sister and I find an old envelope.
There’s a picture of mother and father
before they were married,
he’s smiling, his arm around her.

Her face makes us shudder.
It’s the only photo we’ve discovered
where she looks as we remember her.
Rose pushes it away,
but I add it to my pile.

Oh, I really want to tear it up.
But if I do, what of the past?
Her rain of stinging slaps on face and body,
lashing us with dad’s belt after he died,
those caustic remarks that choked us.

Though some say that what endures needs
no pictures, I am left holding this proof
that belongs with all the unhinged,
wild and unmoored parts of the story
that are not known, spoken or heard.

Marina Sanchez

when I say I wanna have sex I don’t mean I wanna get fucked and cum I mean I wanna makeout with someone for half an hour on my couch with grabby hands all over my body and our teeth clashing because we get so into it that we can’t stop kissing, I mean slow desperate, needy grinding on each other before we take it to the bed, bumping our heads, giggling as we take our clothes off, trying to adjust and get into the right position, I mean having someone on top of me and looking up at them to see that blissful little grin on their face before they scrunch it up a lil and moan because it feels sooooo good and I mean making each other cum so good we end up all out of breath, a sweaty, happy mess, fingers still intertwined, my legs still around their waist, making out again, that’s what I want and it would be kinda cool if I could have it now


with such conviction

June 25, 2017

He’s the kind of liar who totally forgets what he told you the last time, but he believes every single lie with such conviction that sometimes he can convince you of it.

Holly Black
White Cat

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June 25, 2017