reading Lolita

July 20, 2018

book and trees

In Nabokov’s Lolita, the sexualised young heroine is pedestalised whereas her middle-aged mother, Charlotte, is knocked down by a car. This paradigm works so effectively and hauntingly because it illustrates, all too plausibly, a man’s predatory, appropriative desire for youth on the one hand, and his ambivalence towards the archetypal ‘mother’ on the other. There are exactly two roles a woman can have in the Lolita universe: she can be scrutinised, idealised, exploited and abused; or she can be scrutinised, mocked, exploited and disposed of. Putting aside Nabokov’s wit and satirical tendencies for a moment, I would insist that reading Lolita is a particularly uncomfortable experience for a woman because the female reader is reminded that, in the eyes of some men, she will always be fitted into one horrible category or its horrible opposite. This is not to say the novel is not great or that it should not have been written, but merely that women readers may receive its messages differently to male readers.

Kathryn Maris
Transgression and transcendence: poetry and provocation

Your Feet

July 18, 2018

When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

Pablo Neruda

Important Notice

July 1, 2018

Sky land and sea intertwined in a moment of infinity

In a world where eroticism has come to be associated with obscenity, Peedeel seeks to challenge and confront the hypocrisy of sexual stereotypes, reclaiming sexuality as sacred, celebrating the source of creativity itself.


Even Peedeel needs a rest occasionally! So he has packed his essentials, and is off for a short break. But do not despair, boys and girls, he will return –

Fun with Xerox

July 1, 2018

It all started when Johnny lifted
her, laughing, onto the glass,
and as the green beam
scanned her ass he kissed her,
still laughing, their mouths
smashed and shoulders shaking.
He thumbed the print-out from
the tray and adjusted the contrast
on the machine, making gleeful
beeps with his forefinger then
telling her, Hop up there again.
She What if my ass gets cancer?
even as she turned backward,

raised her skirt, which bunched
and tightened over her thighs.
He What if your pussy gets herpes
from you-know-who? 
and they both

knew-who, and she’d flushed at that,
because she was dating Todd
who she didn’t like because Johnny
was dating Angela from another
department at the time
and she’d flushed again,
her ass warm, her cunt hovering
over the inner workings of the copier,
thinking of Angela who wears silk
blouses and would never
do this with Johnny or anyone else,
who would never have herpes.
She knows how mean grown
men can be when they turn, in a flash,
back to boyish. Still, now,
even the whir of the microwave oven
turns her on, the dull thud rumble
of the dryer, the soft click of the toaster —
any otherwise cold, inanimate thing
made intimate by electric current.

Amber Shockley

I think of it as coming
back to myself,
like a second cousin
visiting from the states
As if I’m waiting in
the airport terminal,
hands full of sweat
and a note stapled to my chest
I can’t remember when
I first became a space to be filled,
an empty vessel floating
in between the veil
But I’m starting to feel
like more of a splutter
than a storm,
and it’s moments like
this that make me think God
is just fucking irresponsible
I find myself digging
for my sense of wonder
at the bottom of my music box,
like the folded ears
of a saxophone player,
sitting across the bar
As if I’ll slide my hands
across the slime of my exterior,
slip back into my identity
like an old coat
While I tumble into the
empty bellied passion
of a man with small hands
and an inability to say my name,
hoping I’ll come across
my purpose for life
while drenched in his cum

Kaylene Mary

bruise him

July 1, 2018

I kissed him passionately, I even wanted to bruise him, so that he would not be able to forget me.

Françoise Sagan
Bonjour Tristesse

Erotic dreams

July 1, 2018

Erotic dreams are good, but turning them into reality is so much better!

This body has known the darkest of sensual and carnal delights. This skin is etched with livid lash-strokes reflecting beliefs and personal tastes held for years to be the central core of my sexual being. I am my scars; my scars are me.

Gray Wolf

dirty thoughts

July 1, 2018

My sweet, complacent puppy awaits the dark, dirty thoughts that fill my mind –