premonition

August 12, 2017

i am ophelia
drowned and
breathless
breasts hidden
smooth among
underwater
stones and yet
mother
to this one
puck unaborted
screaming son
playing ex-utero
games he is
like a fish
being born
backwards
swimming upstream
returning to womb
trying to puncture
lungs from the
inside out
elvish eyes rolling
laughing with
interior hysteria
at such
destruction wrought

Julia Pickerill

I deserve to be mocked

August 12, 2017

Making a living by my writing? No! I have a job, and the writing I do is a sideline, a hobby. I use this belittling word on purpose. My literary endeavours bring in no more than pocket money… In some ways, I deserve to be mocked, not because I carry on writing literature without understand its posthumousness, but because I go on regardless of the very real material proof of its posthumousness!

There is something glorious about Kafka’s night-time writing in his room in his parents’ flat. Something wonderful about his obscurity, about the fact that he published so little when his friends published so much. We can read his diaries and letters and think: there’s a man of integrity! That’s what it means, really means, to be a writer! But our impression is dependent on Kafka’s eventual success, and on a culture, his culture, where there was a potential audience for his work all along.

Lars Lyer
Interview in Full Stop
6th January 2012

She lay on his shoulder in this ugly room, folded up with almost imperceptible breathing like seagulls settled on the water cock over gentle waves. Looking at her head and body, richer far than her rare fur coat, holding as he did to these skins which enfolded what ruled him, her arms and shoulders, everything, looking down on her face which ever since he had first seen it had been his library, his gallery, his palace, and his wooded fields he began at last to feel content and almost that he owned her.

Lying in his arms, her long eyelashes down along her cheeks, her hair tumbled and waved, her hands drifted to rest like white doves drowned on peat water, he marvelled again he should ever dream of leaving her who seemed to him then his reason for living as he made himself breathe with her breathing as he always did when she was in his arms to try and be more with her.

It was so luxurious he nodded, perhaps it was also what she put on her hair, very likely it may have been her sleep reaching out over him, but anyway he felt so right he slipped into it too and dropped off on those outspread wings into her sleep with his, like two soft evenings meeting.

Henry Green
Party Going

must be vulnerable to me

August 12, 2017

Most men are very comfortable ‘giving’ me their bodies to play with and use. And yes, I like that. I love that. But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. I want to crack open your emotions, your pride, your sense of self. I want to take that from you, too.

I will find your emotional insecurities and use them to highlight the power exchange between us, to show you that you can and – because you have to let go and fall in order to know what it’s like to feel me catch you.

And yes…You will love me for it.

Ms Kay
The Femdomdiary