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

Siddhartha

For Woman, in her weakness, is yet the strongest force upon the earth. She is the helm of all things human; she comes in many shapes and knocks at many doors; she is quick and patient, and her passion is not ungovernable like that of man, but as a gentle steed that she can guide e’en where she will, and as occasion offers can now bit up and now give rein. She has a captain’s eye, and stout must be that fortress of the heart in which she finds no place of vantage. Does thy blood beat fast in youth? She will outrun it, nor will her kisses tire. Art thou set toward ambition? She will unlock thy inner heart, and show thee roads that lead to glory. Art thou worn and weary? She has comfort in her breast. Art thou fallen? She can lift thee up, and to the illusion of thy sense gild defeat with triumph. Ay, Harmachis, she can do these things, for Nature ever fights upon her side; and while she does them she can deceive and shape a secret end in which thou hast no part. And thus Woman rules the world. For her are wars; for her men spend their strength in gathering gains; for her they do well and ill, and seek for greatness, to find oblivion. But still she sits like yonder Sphinx, and smiles; and no man has ever read all the riddle of her smile, or known all the mystery of her heart. Mock not! mock not! Harmachis; for he must be great indeed who can defy the power of Woman, which, pressing round him like the invisible air, is often strongest when the senses least discover it.

H. Rider Haggard
Cleopatra

Recreation

December 27, 2019

Coming together
it is easier to work
after our bodies
meet
paper and pen
neither care nor profit
whether we write or not
but as your body moves
under my hands
charged and waiting
we cut the leash
you create me against your thighs
hilly with images
moving through our word countries
my body
writes into your flesh
the poem
you make of me.

Touching you I catch midnight
as moon fires set in my throat
I love you flesh into blossom
I made you
and take you made
into me.

Audre Lorde

Fever

November 23, 2019

I am the fever that lights your passion
the fire in your night
the storm capsizing your body…

fire storm

October 8, 2019

I’m the fever lighting your passion, a blazing fire in our night – and the fire storm that finally capsizes your body…

You want to know what it was like?
It was like my whole life had a fever.
Whole acres of me were on fire.
The sun talked dirty in my ear all night.
I couldn’t drive past a wheatfield without doing it violence.
I couldn’t even look at a bridge.
I used to go out in the brush sometimes,
So far out there no one could hear me,
And just burn.
I felt all right then.
I couldn’t hurt anyone else.
I was just a pillar of fire.
It wasn’t the burning so much as the loneliness.
It wasn’t the loneliness so much as the fear of being alone.
Christ look at you pouring from the rocks.
You’re so cold you’re boiling over.
You’ve got stars in your hair.
I don’t want to be around you.
I don’t want to drink you in.
I want to walk into the heart of you
And never walk back out.

Nico Alvarado

flexibility exercises help keep us mobile and active –


playing the piano – Rachmaninov’s Piano Concerto No 2 is one of the most popular and recognisable concertos in the classical repertoire


or practice your violin


Or make love


or drown him in passion


or simply sweep him off his feet


or failing that just go to the beach and sunbathe

In treating of this matter I must first premise that by paederasty I mean actual sodomy as defined by British law – immissio penis in corpus vivum.

Arse makes life golden, want of it dull yellow; The rest is only leather and prunella.

At least, the rest is but preliminaires. An acute observer of my acquaintance remarked to me recently that it was the actual mess caused by emission, and the necessity of cleaning it up, that, by allowing time for passion to cool, prevented a great deal of
copulation which would otherwise take place. There is a great gulf fixed between the ‘short time’ and the ‘all night’, and that great gulf is filled with Condy’s Fluid! This applies equally to Sodomy. If the semen is safely bestowed in mouth or anus of the beloved one, the temptation is to begin all over again; bar the trifle of fatigue, one is in the same position as at first; its loss between the legs or in the hand rouses a sentiment of disgust which is fatal to passion. Even the mouth, like the vagina, remains in a somewhat greasy condition after it has achieved the holy task, and we have no hesitation in plumping the anus as the one vase into which the
perfumed oil of manhood may be poured without exciting a reaction.

Aleister Crowley
THE SCENTED GARDEN OF ABDULLAH THE SATIRIST OF SHIRAZ
aka
BAGH-I-MUATTAR

ON THE QUEER GIRL FANTASY

December 4, 2018

I say I love women & men’s faces crack open
like a jawless throat to swallow me

whole. They say, that’s hot. They’re thinking
sultry eyes, pay-for-more-action, queer

cured by cock. Body as sport. Eyes on everyone
but each other: a spectacle of choice.

Isn’t real unless a man is done proving he can
make a door out of an unopened envelope.

Question: if a girl kisses another girl with
no witness, does that revelation make a sound?

The catch in throat, trembling wrists, terror
blooming into wreathfuls of ribs, wearing

the future around her neck like a noose
— or the bullet caged behind front teeth

when gutted with a pistol in the mouth,
taught a woman’s place is with a cock

-ed gun in the belly if it won’t fire between
her thighs. The difference is when

the bleeding starts. Splintering drowned by
on-screen applause or dark-alley backhand.

I love women. I mean in the way that one
chooses her own murder over men.

Body softened with gasoline & ash. To be
unearthed by hands searching for rain

& crawl out of that grave into the story where
there’s no one else. Just her smile

set on bend of my skull, a coronet. Her eyelashes
the curve of two wings in flight.

I will always love her like walking into fire.
She will always be the kind of pretty so sharp

it feels like loving a knife.

Natalie Wee

an intolerable yearning

December 4, 2018

Once it was possible to earn a living by writing love letters for others: the lost, the lonely, the tongue tied would cough up hard cash for a letter containing words of passion, entreaties of love, of desire and need. These letters, to be sent by the purchaser to their beloved, were, by their very nature, a shared emotional space. A good writer would use words like honey-coated darts; he would fan the flames of longing in the heart of the desired one. He would create an intolerable yearning in the mind of the letter’s recipient thus making possible a fiery union of love –

P