A Scream, A Release

January 23, 2020

I am an omen. Good or
bad, exorcism quiet.

Think of me as the
right moment to

bloom into sickness –

swollen with teeth and
scars, veins full of

bone, glowing
bloody, wet with night.

A wolf.

Sarah Nichols


January 23, 2020

Today is a day of butterflies but how can I
write of such things for people in cities, caught
in human closeness. If I ever thought
that they could care that all the air of my
garden is crowded with light uplifting
colour and whiteness, wafting, shifting,
I only need to remember the traffic clanking
and think of the feet on the pavement spanking,
clipping and shuffling, and voices merging,
decibels surging and iron screeching,
thumping and thudding and Muzak reaching
into the buildings where lovers are lunching,
people are buying and selling, munching
something in paper, and rushing and crossing,
pissing and bossing and talking and meeting:
I and my butterflies are retreating.
Once I was part of the clutter and clatter.
I mixed and I struggled and joined the chatter
and oh, how I loved it, the smells and the fashions,
the colour and movement, the joy and passion.
Here with the butterflies in my garden
I bless the living and ask their pardon.

Janet Kenny

like the power

January 23, 2020

I participate in BDSM, but I wasn’t abused as a child. I don’t hate women, or particularly enjoy hurting women. Sometimes I make them feel pain, but it’s consensual, it serves a purpose — to get them off — and they can indicate that they wish me to stop at any time. I do like the power I get from total submission, and the trust that my partner puts in me to give me everything, from her mind to her body, while expecting nothing in return — except the understanding that I won’t violate that trust.

Nenia Campbell
Bound to Accept

It is beyond dispute that Osiris made his worshipers dream strange things of him, and that he possessed their bodies and souls forever. There is a devilish wrath against mankind with which Osiris was for Death’s sake inspired. In the cool of the evening he walked among men, and upon his head was the Crown of Upper Egypt, and his cheeks were inflated with a wind that slew. His face was veiled so that no man could see it, but assuredly it was an old face, very old and dead and dry for the world was young when tall Osiris died.

Frank Belknap Long
A Visitor From Egypt

this fleeting pleasure

January 23, 2020

In love play she clasped him to her with extreme fervour, fiercely and tearfully, as if she wanted once more to extract the last sweet drop from this fleeting pleasure. Never had it been so strangely clear to Siddhartha how closely related passion was to death.

Hermann Hesse


I saw him watching me in the gilded mirrors with the assessing eye of a connoisseur inspecting horseflesh, or even of a housewife in the market, inspecting cuts on the slab. I’d never seen, or else had never acknowledged, that regard of his before…When I saw him look at me with lust, I dropped my eyes but, in glancing away from him, I caught sight of myself in the mirror… I saw how much that cruel necklace became me. And, for the first time in my innocent and confined life, I sensed in myself a potentiality for corruption that took my breath away.

Angela Carter
The Bloody Chamber

a special odour

January 23, 2020

Most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out from between their pages – a special odour of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers.

Haruki Murakami
Kafka on the Shore

Sharing secrets

January 22, 2020

“Secrets have power,” Widget begins. “And that power diminishes when they are shared, so they are best kept and kept well. Sharing secrets, real secrets, important ones, with even one other person, will change them.”

Erin Morgenstern

The Night Circus

did you see the snow falling sideways?
did you see the rainbow’s end?
did you see the flowers in springtime?
did you see the children playing?
did you see my heart being broken
when you walked away and shut the door?

Bobbie Troy


January 21, 2020

sometimes i can’t help it
i’m down and i want to stay down
but then you hug me, your ample
breasts snug under my smaller
ones like an art sculpture
of a puzzle piece, and i feel
my spirits lift against my will
damn happiness i think, it’s just
her breasts, they have nothing
to do with how things will turn
out between us, and i try not
to be pulled out of the treacherous
moment, out of the safety of
nothing can get worse than it
already is, but there i am, helpless,
elevated by your breasts

Ann Tweedy